The Road That Will Take Me Home nBSG and Firefly
by DrMckay
Summary: nBSG and Firefly crossover. The Rag-Tag Fleet has been hurled to a deserted sector of space. Deserted except for a beat-up freighter named Serenity that is... On indefinite hiatus, but I do plan to finish it. Someday.
1. Transit

**nBSG and Firefly Crossover: ****The Road That Will Take Me Home**

**Chapter 1: Transit.**

RAG-TAG FLEET, IMMEDIATELY AFTER THE EVENTS OF THE CAPTAIN"S HAND

BATTLESTAR GALACTICA CIC,

"Admiral, all ships secure, all FTL drives spun up and ready. Jumping in five minutes."

The lean, weathered man at the center of the human anthill nodded, said, "Very well, Mr. Gaeta," and the fleet prepared for yet another step farther from home.

As he approached the communications console he asked P.O. Dualla, "Hey, Dee, what's the word on the next system, anything exciting?"

Dualla checked her console. "Uh, the Raptor off Pegasus didn't find much, just more space. Should be quiet this time."

"Finally, a little peace and quiet."

In the twenty seconds the exchange took, the background radiation in the nebula began climbing, doubling, every minute or so. The radiation was entered into the sensor logs but not _yet _potent enough to trigger the radiological alarm…

As Gaeta was counting down the final seconds of the jump, the alarm went off, startling everyone concerned and prompting the last pre-jump thought of the entire CIC: good riddance.

The Battlestars _Galactica _and _Pegasus_, along with the rest of the rag-tag fleet jumped. But not to the coordinates scouted by the Raptor mission.

SERENITY, IMMEDIATLEY AFTER THE EVENTS OF "OUT OF GAS"

Everything was back to normal. Well, as normal as things got on this boat, anyhow, thought Captain Malcolm Reynolds as he relaxed into the rarely-used copilot's seat on the bridge of _Serenity_, stomach twingeing a bit from the bullet wound the Doc had fixed. They were back on course for Paquin and had their connection to the Cortex back up. Everything was going just fine. This worried Mal a bit, as things rarely went "just fine" for long.

As if in answer to his answer to his thought, the space a kilometer in front of him flashed, and around fifty ships of varying sizes appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. The radar lit up like a Christmas tree decorated with napalm and set a-blazin'. Mal punched the shipwide intercom and yelled into it,

"Zoë, Wash, Get the hell up here!"

For all of three seconds, Mal's mercantilist instincts went toe-to toe with his desire for self preservation. They reached a kind of draw, when the merchant in his head pointed out that if he tried to run, they would probably be destroyed, and they might as well try to make some kind of profit out of it by at least appearing friendly.

Mal also activated the communications array, and earnestly broadcasted;

"This is Captain Malcolm Reynolds of _Serenity_, you folks lost?

As he stared at the ships, two stood out. They were the largest, most deadly-looking, and they had changed vector, launching something out of the pods on their port sides. Several somethings actually. As Zoë and Wash ran up to the bridge, Mal leaned back in his chair, he was thinking;

I really hope these guys are friendly.

In addition to Wash and Zoë, Simon and River Tam showed up on the bridge as well.  
Mal shot a glare at Simon, who replied with "She wanted to see this. I couldn't stop her if I wanted to."  
As Wash slid into his chair, (the one with the plastic dinos around it,) Zoë peered out the bridge canopy and gave the just-appeared fleet a thorough inspection: "they don't look like Reavers, nor Alliance, sir."  
"Yeah," Wash added, "whatever they are, I'm not reading _anything _from them that would indicate a Munchausen drive core. I don't think they can make interplanetary travel. Well, not without some other kind of Faster than light drive. Huh. Nothing in the IFF yet either"  
"Did you get any response, sir," Zoë asked.  
"Nah, nothing yet."

The smaller craft which had launched from the larger ones vectored closer to Serenity and then stopped. On closer inspection, they appeared to be small one-man fighters three-winged ships of two types, one type colored red with white stripes, and the other more curved with a blue color. The aesthetics of the fighters did not immediately concern Mal. The fact that all of the ships had cannons mounted on the wings, however, did.  
"What are they waiting for?" he wondered.

Just then, the radio crackled, and then resolved into words, of a deep and confident pitch, but not immediately understood to most of those now on the bridge of Serenity.

Except River.

She was staring off into space and then stated in a completely even tone, "Their odyssey complete with the battle half-done." She then whirled and strode over to Mal's console and began typing at a furious rate. On the screen, Mal saw pages from the cortex appearing with titles like The Iliad, Oedipus at Colouns, and the Dulares Book of Greek Myths. Titles he had barely remembered, ones he had only seen before in the schoolroom of Shadow, the month his mother taught him about the Greek myths.

River then activated a teaching and translation program, on the cortex, one that helps to teach the English or Mandarin so essential in the 'verse to isolated planets in the boonies, the ones that don't have the will or the time to teach their kids the language they don't speak. River activated the Greek section of the translation program, seldom used except on backwaters like New Athens or Sparta reborn.

She gave Mal a soft stare, and said, "Tell them again. Slowly."  
Mal complied and repeated his greeting.

The static cleared, and the deep, stern voice returned, this time, in English:

"Captain Reynolds… This is Admiral Adama of the Battlestar Galactica. We would like to- extend an invitation to come aboard. We will be armed, you had better not be. Adama out."

**Chapter 2: Meetings**

Mal got his crew together at the dining table for one of those meetings where everyone had a say, and then Mal chose an option that they presented him with, or one he thought up. It was rarely the best choice, and was usually the least stupid. Therefore, Jayne's ideas rarely made it past the first stage in the decision-making process. Wrapping up a brief explanation, and adding; "…so, I told them we'd come over in twenty minutes. Enough time to run, or dock with them, but it seems to me if we stick around and keep our cool, we stand to gain from this-"

"Gain what exactly?" Queried Jayne, "from what you say, these folks seem a mite twitchy to do business with, and if there not even from around here, it ain't exactly like they'll have any cashy money or decent goods we can get from 'em if we help. I say we run."

"Where, exactly do you intend to run TO? In case you missed the beginning part of my little lecture, they appeared out there in a flash. Whatever type of drive they got, its obviously faster than us, and all those fighters have guns, and I'll lay even money that those Battle-thingies have even bigger guns, and the people on 'em seem jumpy enough to use them if we bolt. I say we sit down, have ourselves a calm little palaver with these folks and try to set us up a business relationship with them. Besides, I bet Kaylee's gonna jump at the chance to take a look at their engine rooms."

Kaylee grinned, and the room seemed to get even brighter "Oh, that'd be shiny cap'n! Can you set that as part of the deal with them?"

Mal grinned; you couldn't help but be cheerful around her, "well, now it's you, me, Wash, and Zoë. What do the rest of you think?"

Shepard Book raised a hand and spoke; "Well, I never though that I'd have the chance to make history. This should be a unique experience."

Mal stared at Simon and River. "Now, while it would be bad for her to go nuts on us at a wrong time-"

Simon interrupted-

"She is the only translator you have if something goes wrong with the cortex uplink, so of course she will be going. So I will go too."

River said lucidly, "I'll be good. However I will make no allowance for any bad behavior on their part."

"Fair enough." Mal turned to Inara. "And you?"

"Well, I suppose aside from the Shepard, I have the best manners of the lot of you. I volunteer to be the _ambassador_." Mal raised an eyebrow and was about to speak when she continued with a semi-mock glare. "Someone has to give a good first impression."

"Of good taste, and respectability, not likely." Mal riposted

Zoë rolled her eyes, "Ok, enough arguing, It's settled. We all go aboard _Galactica_ except Jayne, who misses getting to look at all the new kinds of guns they'll be pointing at us."

"Fine by me." he rumbled. "I'll be in my bunk."

BATTLESTAR GALACTICA PORT HANGAR BAY

Admiral Adama, Colonel Tigh, President Roslin, and a squad of Marines were the only ones on the deck at present. Vice President Dr. Baltar was being kept in the dark about the discovery until they needed his scientific expertise. Adama and Roslin were beginning to sense something oily and hidden in the man. As they watched the extendable airlock attach to bottom front of the odd looking ship, Saul Tigh stared at the ship with an expression of bemused disgust, mumbling,

"Well, I hope the crew is better looking than that piece-of-crap ship."

Roslin smiled. "I don't care if they're blue, green or polka-dot if they can tell us where Earth is."

Tigh turned bright red. "Oh. You heard me. Sorry Ma'am."

"It's quite all right Colonel, as a matter of fact, I agree with you. Just don't tell the captain."

"Yes, Madam President."

The airlock pressurized, the light near the door handle turning form red to green. Adama hit the communications button, and said: "Reynolds, I have a squad of Marines standing outside this door. Now would be a good time to drop any weapons you and your people are carrying."

After hearing some murmuring and several thumps, Adama opened the airlock door to find eight people and a diverse arsenal of weapons on the floor.

A brown-haired man in his mid-thirties with a look of authority smiled and stepped forward. In his hand he held several small headphones similar to the one in his own ear. The man spoke in a language unfamiliar to Adama, until a wafish young girl stepped forward and said in halting tones,

"Put this on, it connects direct to our translation program. Then you can talk-to all of us."

Adama grew instantly suspicious at the words _connection_ and _program_, but, acting on his gut, he took a pair of headphones, passing a set to Roslin and Tigh also.

As he put on the headphones, the brown-haired man began to speak: "Admiral Adama, I presume?" extending a hand, "Captain Malcolm Reynolds of _Serenity. _

Nodding, and grasping Reynolds' hand, Adama got the impression of a career Marine noncom promoted from the ranks, competent with his job, yet uncomfortable in it. He would look out for his people first. This was not a man to trifle with.

"Captain Reynolds, This is the President of the Twelve Colonies, Laura Roslin…"

"Pleasure to meet you, Captain," she said, smiling warmly as they shook hands.

"…and _Galactica's_ executive officer, Colonel Saul Tigh

Tigh managed to choke out: "nice ship" but was clearly holding back.

"Oh," said Mal. "_Serenity_ may not look like much, but she gets us where we need to go, er, most of the time."

Adama stared at Mal and asked; "You are obviously human. Please tell me; do you come from Earth, or know where it is?"

Mal responded: "sure, this won't take but a moment:

"Here's how it is: Earth-that-was got used up, so we terraformed a whole new galaxy of Earths, some rich and flush with new technologies, some not so much. The Central Planets, them as formed the Alliance, waged war to bring everyone under their rule; a few idiots tried to fight it, among them myself and Zoë.-

Pointing, at the beautiful, dangerous woman behind him

After the war, I bought a ship, _Serenity_. She's a transport ship, Firefly class. Got a good crew: a pilot, Wash, Zoë's husband, a mechanic, Kaylee. We even picked up a preacher for some reason," (Nodding at each crew member in turn,) and a bona fide-

-"Ambassador," Inara cut in, introducing herself around,

. There's a doctor, too, took his genius sister outta some Alliance camp, where they played with her brain. So they're keeping a low profile. River's a little loopy sometimes, but she's a reader, like to be she tells you what you had for breakfast. Last year.

After the rest of the crew was introduced, with amusement at the Jayne "Mr. Public Relations" Cobb's decision to remain aboard _Serenity_, and raised eyebrows at the fact that the Shepard only worshiped one god. Mal looked Roslin in the eye and queried:

"You mentioned something about twelve colonies, Ma'am; care to go into more detail about that?"

"Certainly," she replied, "let us move to the briefing room. Come along ladies and gentlemen."

"No offense ma'am," said Zoë as she was walking past, but you sure remind me of my third-grade teacher."

Roslin smiled over Tigh's muffled laughter. "None taken, Minister of Education and schoolteacher were my prior occupations."

When they reached the briefing room, Roslin said; take a seat. We will try to give you the short version of why we are here. We don't quite know the "how" yet.

The crew of _Serenity_ (minus Jayne,) sat down and listened to two hours of brief Colonial history, the journey of the rag-tag fleet, and their burning desire to find a thirteenth colony called Earth.

Roslin concluded the epic telling by saying; "one planet with humans would have been wonderful news, several hundred inhabited or inhabitable planets are far better than what I had hoped for. Thank you, Captain Reynolds."

A Marine noncom entered the room, and told the group: "Doctor Baltar wants to see you, sir, Madam President, shall I tell him you're busy?"

"No." said Roslin. "Send him in. Now it is time for the scientific explanation of _how_ we got here."

Captain Reynolds, I'd watch Baltar it I were you. He's a bit slimier than he lets on.

The first thing Gaius Baltar saw when he entered the room were Adama, Tigh, and eight people he had never seen before, including four women, three of whom suited his tastes rather well. (One was a bit too young, but still, three new, legal female faces did make for a happy day.)

As he entered the room a bare leg with a silver bracelet contrived to get tangled in his, causing an undignified stumble. Baltar _glared_ the leg's owner, a tall beautiful blond woman only he could see.

"_One must create a nice image for these-people- That of a bumbling but kind scientist should do nicely."_

With a quirky, embarrassed smile, Baltar made his way over to the table, and was introduced to _Serentiy's_ crew, paying particular attention to the dark-haired woman in the flowing robes who exuded grace, sophistication, and a subtle sensuali-

"_Gaius, it would not do to attempt a liason this early on. Keep on task and pay attention!"_

"Well, Doctor," asked Roslin, "what do you have for us?"

"Madam President, while at first glance the energy spikes in the nebula appeared to be natural in origin, after closer examination of the _Galactica's _sensor logs in the seconds before the jump, I can only presume that the energy buildup was artificial. You see…"

Mal listened to Baltar ramble in scientific jargon, exponents, probabilities, signal decay,

And believed, absolutely that this man was not to be trusted, he was reminded of Niska and Badger, the man of intellect and culture on the outside, (or at least trying to be,) and then and the as-of-yet intangible air of _something_ underneath the crust. Mal already disliked him, and taking a glance around the crew, looked at River, saw a tiny shake of the head, and that was all he needed.

He would bide his time, be polite, look for the gain of it. And watch his back.

**Chapter Three: Maneuvers**

FIRST CONTACT PLUS ONE, 0133 HRS,

BATTLESTAR GALACTICA BRIEFING ROOM

Still in the briefing room with Roslin and Adama, Zoë and Mal were trying to get as much information on the colonials as he could, and on their robotic nemeses, the Cylons, as possible. Kaylee and Wash were busy learning about the engineering and propulsion technologies of a new civilization, and Jayne, finally coaxed from his "bunk" in the bowels of Serenity, was busy comparing notes and weapons with some Marines, under the redoubtable Gunnery Sergeant Hadrian. Simon and River were on Pegasus treating the sick and wounded from the Pegasus' last scrap with the Cylons that had cost former Commander Garner his life and led to Lee Adama's succession to command of _Pegasus_. Few questions were asked about his origins, it was enough that he was there and that people had stopped dying. The rest of the crew was back exploring the areas of the Galactica that they were allowed to see.

With the fleet rumor mill already open and the news services unrestricted, by Presidential order, a sense of jubilation tempered by apprehension about the Alliance government was sweeping through every ship in the fleet. Even D'anna Biers, the sharkish reporter was giving good, positive copy.

"…and you're sure there's no way these-Cylons made it through the Big Jump along with you? Fella could get a mite twitchy; he knew one or more of those things made it through along with you."

"Captain Reynolds," responded Adama, "the primary threat is not the metal Centurion unit; it is the other models of cylon, each of whom can look and act like one of us. We have ID'ed several models so far, and have photographs of them if you would like to see them. However, we are still unsure as to how many "Sleeper Agents" remain, or precisely who they are. _Galactica _also has a prisoner, a defector if you will.

"Defector? How'd that happen?"

"She developed feelings for a stranded pilot, and helped him to survive on Caprica after the attacks. She was placed in the brig after they made it to the fleet. We are still unsure of her reliability."

Mal could sympathize; he had had the same doubts about defectors from the Alliance during the War.

While Laura Roslin realized that Reynolds' depiction of the Alliance was heavily biased, she knew that her government had not been entirely perfect, and had had its share of Black Operations, (only confirmed by Bill Adama's slight-but-visible reaction to those two words,) but she was positive, absolutely positive, that the Colonial government would stop short of medical experiments on children. She decided to hold off on contact and negotiations with the Alliance government until, after analysis of comparative technology and weapons, she could be sure that the Fleet could negotiate from a position of strength.

SERENITY DINING ROOM, (Inside Battlestar Galactica Docking Bay)

FIRST CONTACT PLUS TWO, 1125 HRS

The crew was back on Serenity for another "strategy session," having managed to eat in the Galactica's mess. In Mal's opinion, the food there was even more simple and bland than on Serenity, but still better than field rations. Oh and they ate too many noodles. Man can get sick of them pretty quick, as he found out recoupin' from a war wound at New Canton Hospital after his third tour, when a nerve cluster on his back was hit by a piece of shrapnel… no young, pretty nurses, only ones old enough to be his _amah_, and nothin' but gorram noodles

Mal sat back and listened to Kaylee expound on the wonders of Colonial tech, with half a mind (still more than Jayne could muster on a good day,)

"So, as far as I understand, the drive folds space, and the ship moves near-instantaneously to another point in space- drive's reliable, it don't break down…much, and ya can mount it on a ship of near any size!"

Mal was struck with a brilliant idea.

"Kaylee, any chance we could mount one of those drives, maybe from a spare shuttle or Raptor, (He had learned 'Fleet parlance by this time,) on Serenity?"

"I figured you were gonna ask that Cap'n, an' so I asked their Chief when he came over to have a look at Serenity. Nice man, seemed a bit sad, though, but I didn't wanna-"

"Kaylee!"

"Oh." (Grinning impishly,) "Sorry, he said he was fairly sure they could do it. According to him, non FTL ships back at their Colonies do it all the time, oh, and did you know they have an girl engineer named Cally, I mean, how weird is that-"

She stopped talking after a masterfully arched Zoë eyebrow slash glare.

"Anyways, if it's possible, should cut our travel time and fuel costs down significant. Assuming we can get Tylium for it. S'posed to be lots in Asteroids, maybe in the Belt,"

Mal squinted contemplatively; _I'll have to see what I can do about that…_

Three minutes later, A klaxon began to sound throughout Galactica, and through the vessel's intercom came;

"_Attention, unidentified vessel detected. Set Condition One throughout the fleet…"_

LONDINIUM,

(One of the two Major Planets, location of Parliament, center of the Alliance Government)

The cool green lawns, sheer blue skies, and graceful silver maxscrapers and government buildings of the Capital City served a dual purpose. They were carefully maintained to awe and calm the many, many hayseed tourists and minor officials from the outer worlds, exuding a veneer of technology and civilization, and acted as the velvet glove for the iron fist of the Parliament and the Prime Minister's Inner Cabinet that controlled it.

Those ten men and women on the Cabinet had inscrutable, unquestioned power, and massive influence over the Alliance Policy, along with the fleet that backed up that policy. They had orchestrated or permitted nearly every Alliance Black and Covert Operation before, during and after the Unification War. Three of them were the Board of Directors of Blue Sun and a host of subsidiary corporations with secret experimental facilities.

An aide rushed in and whispered into the ear of the thin, balding man in his mid-fifties. The Naval Secretary stood up and addressed his fellow ogliarchs:

"Ladies and Gentlemen, The IAV Dortmunder was on a routine patrol around the Paquin sector, and observed a large fleet containing vessels of unknown type-"

Images of the Galactica, Pegasus, and her fleet began flashing on a projection screen.

"The Captain of the Dortmunder is unsure of their intentions, and has dispatched a standard, multi-lingual greeting. I am of the opinion that, as we have few Fleet assets in-sector, and they have made no violent actions, we should attempt to open diplomatic relations. And see where we stand."

With murmured assent, the Cabinet decided to attempt peaceful contact.

But one man in the room had a plan of his own…

The Naval Secretary turned to his trusted aide,

"Mr. Doral, cancel my 0500 with the board, I'll be staying here for the next several days."

And the drab, unremarkable, brown-haired aide of average build and height, who went by the name of Aaron Doral, left the room to respond to his boss's request.

While he sent a message of his own.

It read:

"They're here."

BATTLESTAR GALACTICA CIC, IMMEDIATELY AFTER CONTACT WITH UNKNOWN VESSEL

"Unidentified vessel, this is the _Battlestar Galactica_. Please respond."

Reports flooded in from all over the ship;

"_DC parties standing by,_

-_vipers in port launch tubes prepped, _

_-Main batteries locked, plotting CWIS _(Close-In Weapons System) _cone for possible fighter intercept vectors,_

_-_Pegasus _Actual_ _reports ready."_

"Hold fire." ordered Adama, "and launch Vipers. We are going to try to make peaceful contact, but if you get any hostile intent, open fire."

Unconsciously, P.O. Anastasia Dualla put her hand to her headphones, "Sir, I'm getting a response, from the unidentified vessel."

"Put it on the CIC intercom," said Adama.

Even through the static, the voice sounded hesitant nervous:

"_Galactica, this is Captain Harken of the Interstellar Alliance Vessel _Dortmunder, _we have been ordered by Parliament to escort you to the nearest naval base. You are required to disarm your weapons, and prepare for boarding teams-_

CABINET ROOM, LONDONIUM

The Comm feed was live,

"What in the Seven Hells!" exclaimed the Naval Secretary, "Doral? Did you dispatch the message correctly, or is Harken a raving luna-"

He was stunned as Doral; his close aide of so many years strode back into the room wearing a belt with containers of ball-bearings over blocks of Comp5, a plastic explosive. The Secretary got as far as recognizing the irony that he was on the appropriations committee for said explosive during the Unification War, and trying to simultaneously dive under the table, when his world went white…

IAV DORTMUNDER BRIDGE

"-Surrender now. Any attempt at hostile action, and you will be fired on."

Captain Harken was a standard, by the book officer. He had gotten one of the border patrol "Pride" commands, the class of ship commissioned after the war. Heavily armed, imposing, and lightly built, it had been designed to impress local dignitaries, and catch smaller vessels, not go toe-to-toe in a fleet battle. That was for the Dreadnaughts. It resembled nothing so much as a series of skyscrapers in space, gleaming and delicate. Dortmunder carried seventy-five hard-hitting gunships, and multiple energized torpedo launchers. It was not well armored; because tactics dictated it should release gunships, and stay back from the main fighting. Also armor was more expensive, and, in the budget-cutting days after Unification, with no organized enemy to fight, was not seen as a practical expenditure. While this worked fine for picket duty and smuggling interdiction, this theory had yet to hold up in battle.

Harken took a look at the tac screen, and shivered. Those two battlestars looked deadly, the smaller (civilian?) ships could be armed, but orders were orders.

"Sir!" crowed the Ensign at the Radar screen, multiple small objects launching from both Battlestars."

"Are they maneuvering?" queried Harken.

"yessir, they appear to be one or two-man fighters, velocity standard to our gunships, er- so far they are maneuvering into a flank position above and below the two Battlestars. The appear to have a broadside position on us,

"Sir!" Said the ensign at the comm station

"Adama says he will not stand down, -I've lost contact with the Cabinet!"

"Jamming?"

"I don't think so, sir, we still have the Cortex and Sector Net."

Harken was puzzled and scared. He made the call,

"Weapons, give me a firing solution on the largest Battlestar. Detach Gunships. Order them to engage only military targets."

GALACTICA LAUNCH TUBE, PORT HANGAR BAY

The past few days had been weird for Brendan "Hotdog" Costannza, what with meeting the earthers, earthlings- whatever they were called, and finding out that they were just as human as he was. When that pilot of theirs, Wash, accepted Starbuck's offer, and got in a Viper cockpit, he flew rings around damn near everybody, even the almighty CAG herself. Wash was talkative and funny, but struck him as a bit too modest for a topnotch pilot, even if he was the right level of eccentric. After the joyride, (and asking if he could keep the Viper) Wash had returned to Serenity, and, as all the male pilots noted enviously, to the arms of an incredibly beautiful woman.

"Hotdog" mulled it over;

_How could a guy like Wash get a woman like tha-?_

Major Kelly's voice snapped him out of it,

"_Hotdog, launching in three, two…"_

As he sped down the tube, Hotdog was glad to have gotten a Mk IV for this battle. He had the feeling he would be needing the extra firepower and speed as he angled his guns down onto the deadly looking gunships approaching the Galactica's centerline.

_Dortmunder _opened fire first, launching five ion-catalyst torpedoes, engines glowing green, towards the _Galactica_. Its complement of gunships began to arc gracefully out of their original trajectories heading toward the Battlestars' centerlines, and began to maneuver toward the _Galactica_, trying to get within range to fire their anti-ship missiles at the smaller Battlestar.

PEGASUS CIC

"Sir!"

Exclaimed Lt. Hoshi,

"Dortmunder has fired!"

Commander Lee Adama frowned,

"Helm, alter heading port five degrees, roll left three. Main batteries, load antiship and fire as you bear on Dortmunder. Secondaries, task for suppression fire on the gunships. _Galactica_ has the missiles.

Lee paused, took a breath, picked up the intercom mike,

"All vipers weapons free, stop the fighters from getting to the civvies, and stay out of our suppression fire."

To the bridge crew of the Dortmunder it looked as if both of the Battlestars had erupted in flame. It was as if hundreds of fiery tongues were licking out into space, the ones from _Pegasus_ shredding the forty-five gunships still on approach to the _Galactica, _with the "Bucket's" secondary batteries prematurely detonating the four of the missiles- one got through. It made Commander Harken feel a bit better, until he saw the heavy projectiles from _Pegasus' _main guns, the ones mounted on the starboard flight pod.

"_INCOMING!"_

SERENITY BRIDGE

There was no way Mal was stupid enough to take _Serenity _out in the middle of a battle voluntarily, but once Admiral Adama had pointed out to him that the starboard launch bay was the only one capable of landing Vipers, a landing which would probably be very hurried, very chaotic, and involving a lot of said Vipers hitting the deck all over.

Having no FTL drive, and given that his crew had decided to stick it out with the Colonials, _Serenity _was cleared to dock with _Cloud Nine_,the luxury liner. The only problem was getting there intact through the freewheeling melee of a dogfight around Galactica between the Vipers and surviving gunships. So far, although Wash's piloting was tossing them around like olives in a rapidly shaken martini glass, his skills had kept them from getting hit. So far-

-_THUD-_

"What was that?"

Asked Mal, as a piece of his beloved _Serenity_ decided to "part company," as it were, from the nose of the vessel.

"looks like a piece of shrapnel clipped the port guidance leads." Muttered Wash in a strained voice,

"I have no control on that side and we're in a spin heading away from the center of the furball, towards the civilians."

Mal bit back some very unpleasant curses, (Wash didn't deserve them,) mused;

"Well, we're out of the bad for now, Wash, get on the horn, see if anyone can give us a tow, or meet us halfway, meanwhile,"

he hollered,

"Kaylee, get up here, I got a boat needs fixin'"

HOTDOG'S VIPER

IMMEDIATELY AFTER DORTMUNDER INITIATED HOSTILITIES.

Starbuck's voice came through his helmet speakers, loud and crackly as always,

"_All Vipers, All Vipers, weapons free, Red Team, break by pairs and engage the bogeys. Stick with your wing, and good hunting."_

Hotdog listened to the conformations, gave his, and then commed "Duck," his wing.

"Duck, we got three threats in our sector, designated Omega 1-3. High mass-thrust indicators, but little maneuverability shown so far. We play this safe; we go home with some nice kill stickers. I'll take cover you first pass, and then we leapfrog."

"Punch it!"

"_I copy, Hotdog."_

The two vipers rolled out in to the fight, firing RCS thrusters, and moving on seemingly random, unpredictable paths past the gunships. Until both craft stopped completely, pivoting one hundred and eighty degrees, and accelerating on the tails of the three gunships, began firing their three 30-millimeter Kinetic Energy Weapons.

Two spectacular, silent explosions later, the third gunship began firing its few attitude jets, trying to escape the deadly streams of fire. A larger flash off starboard caused Hotdog to glance to starboard, in time to see the death throes of the _IAV Dortmunder_ as high impact AP shells from _Pegasus'_ and _Galactica's_ dorsal armaments rip through the ship completely, creating a massive hole, a few shells even emerging from the other side before the remainder of the _Dortmunder_ ripped apart, through explosive decompression, and the sympathetic detonations of its fuel bunkers and ammunition storage lockers.

COCKPIT OF ALLIANCE SIXTH FLEET, THIRD SQUADRON GUNSHIP "MIDWAY MACE"

Lieutenant (JG) Marie Nimitz, descendant of the Illustrious Fleet Admiral Chester,

Hero of the Battle of Midway so long ago on Earth-That-Was, took pride in her heritage as a member of a famous military family, was content with her service to the Alliance, and excited about her posting to the Outer Planets. Until about ten minutes ago.

Like all Nimitzes since the Disparosa, she studied records of her ancestor's epochal success in detail. At the moment, however, Marie was most reminded of the part of the Battle of Midway when already unmanuverable American Avenger Torpedo Bombers had to fly "straight and level" to launch an attack on the Japanese carriers. They were perfect targets. Not one plane of Torpedo Squadron Eight made it back to the American Fleet, or inflicted damage to the carriers.

The Alliance Nebula-5 Gunship was made for high-speed space pursuit and atmospheric maneuverability, (hence the myriad of control surfaces) The N-5 was a new, postwar, model, made when some idiot in accounting determined that two ships could be made for the price of one if half of the expensive space maneuvering systems, (attitude jets,) were removed. This move was very popular, what with all of the postwar debt, but made the N-5 less maneuverable in a vacuum.

The prevailing thought was: "The War's over. Who is there to dogfight in space anyway?"

In Marie's esteemed opinion, the N-5 was barely adequate for interstellar police and customs work, and completely ill-suited to space warfare, no matter how hot a stick it was in-atmo. With the beginning of the battle, she had already brought up the "eject" option on the N-5's central computer. This would eject the cockpit containing her, the copilot, Ensign Mike Royce, and her Weapons Officer Philippe Deveraux.

The Comm boards were filled with the chatter, screams and silence of pilots in her squadron;

"_Gorramit, he's too slippery-"_

"_Three here, picked up a tail, someone get him off-"_

The other two gunships in her flight were quickly blown apart, and the two small fighters which had caused the destruction turned to pursue her.

As they closed in, Marie dropped her countermeasures, which exploded into searing lights and metal fragments, several of which tore a wing off of one of the fighters

HOTDOG'S VIPER

He saw Duck's wing fragment, watched the viper spin its way off into space, shoved it out of his mind, and poured 30-millimeter HE shells into the bastard until it exploded and a large chunk of it shot off into space, obviously a cabin of some sort.

Hotdog decided to frag it.

Then he heard Duck;

"_Crypter Crypter, Duck here. -hit and spinning, no joy on controls, punching out."_

Hotdog keyed his mike,

"Hotdog here, Duck had to eject, took out three bogeys, I got have one eject from them, too. Logging coordinates, Hotdog out.

The battle was over. Another war had begun.

**Chapter 4: Mission: Indomitable**

_There's somethin' happenin' here  
What it is ain't exactly clear  
There's a man with a gun, over there  
Tellin' me I got to beware_

_-Buffalo Springfield: For What It's Worth_

"MIDWAY MACE" COCKPIT ESCAPE MODULE

As the sleek, deadly-looking fighter oriented on her, Marie Nimitz knew she was going to die. She had just destroyed its wingman, and held no illusions about the "nobility" of fighter combat. So she took a deep breath, and waited for nothingness. She was partly right.

Nothing happened. Immediately, at least- About five minutes later an ungainly, tan craft, larger than those elegant fighters that had turned her gunship into confetti came to a stop above the cockpit module. Two "_**clunks**_" later, and they were moving again, towards the larger of the two "Battlestars."

PEGASUS PORT DORSAL HANGAR BAY:

Commander Lee Adama stood by the elevator with a marine bodyguard, waiting for the arrival of the captured escape pod. While Captain Reynolds had been friendly, almost ingratiatingly so, in his two weeks of commanding a Battlestar, he _did_ know that people who had shot, or had been planning to shoot at him less than a half an hour ago deserved extra scrutiny. Especially the only people intelligent or fast enough to eject from their ship _before_ it exploded. And then there was the Intel angle- while "Mal" as he insisted on being called, had fought in the Unification War, he had done it as a ground-pounder. These people were pilots, and were probably well acquainted with Alliance military vehicles and capabilities.

As the pod rose into the hangar, the marines all aimed their weapons at the windows. The three space suited figures inside raised their hands.

_Well, t_hought Lee,_ I suppose some customs are universal after all, _

He picked up a radio, broadcast into the ship, in the "clear."

"This is Commander Lee Adama. Come out and keep your hands raised. Any false moves and you will be shot."

Three helmeted heads nodded, and one person got up to pop the hatch.

Lee fought down a smile, which would not have looked appropriate on the face of the "Beast's" commander. It was just that he felt like a cliché cop in those "Caprica Enforcement Files" broadcasts. He silently swore never to use that line again.

The three figures made their way over to Lee and the Marines, slowly, reached up and took off their helmets revealing two young men and a very beautiful-

_-Stop it, Lee-_

Young woman. Who promptly saluted.

"Lieutenant, Junior Grade Marie Nimitz, my copilot, Ensign Royce, Weapons Officer Deveraux, Alliance Fleet. In accordance with the Fifth Geneva Convention, I and my men are authorized to provide you with our names, ranks and serial numbers. Nothing more."

"Lt. Nimitz," Lee responded, due to acts of aggression by the _IAV Dortmunder_ a state of war now exists between the Colonial Remnant and the Anglo-Sino Alliance. You and your men are under arrest."

Lee nodded to a Marine Sergeant;

"Take them to the brig, but don't _interrogate_ them. Yet."

"Aye sir."

With that, Lee Adama turned on his heels, and strode out of the hangar bay, leaving Marie Nimitz and her comrades to an uncertain future. She felt really, really uneasy about the way Lee Adama had said "Interrogation." No matter how cute he looked.

SERENITY BRIDGE

"Captain Reynolds?" queried a slightly bemused President Roslin,

"I was not aware that making you our Cultural Attaché left me at your beck and call."

Mal didn't bat an eye.

Madam President, I was watching a broadwave, and it mentioned a bombing in the Cabinet Chamber of Parliament, on Londinium."

Mal pressed a button on one of the Bridge's many screens, and chatter from a news show cut in:

Showing footage of a flaming, ornate building, with a broadcaster commenting;

"_-the only survivor of the blast was a Cabinet aide by the name of Aaron Doral-"_

The news network showed a still photo of a very familiar, though soot-blackened face

Mal froze the image, turned to Roslin.

"I was looking through those pictures of the "skinjobs" you sent us. Figgered It'd come in useful if I did."

He stared at her pointedly.

"Reckon I was right to beck 'n call ya after all. How bout you?"

Roslin stared right back. The captain was baiting her, but if she had learned anything from her years as an educator, it was how not to be baited. And how to act fast.

"It certainly does. Thank you Captain Reynolds. It appears as if the Cylons have beaten us to your people."

Reynolds raised an eyebrow,

"With respect, Madam President, them as just got killed ain't my people. Odds are, they're the ones who had the bright idea of Unification and consequently, got _my_ _people_ killed. I'll shed no tears."

Roslin winced, more from the grammar, (or lack thereof,) than her mistake,

"Come with me."

BATTLESTAR GALACTICA BRIEFING ROOM

Mal sat in the room with Roslin, Adama, Tigh, and Lee.

Roslin cleared her throat,

"Captain Reynolds, it appears we are now at war on two fronts. I apologize for involving you and your crew in any of this- situation."

"No apology necessary Madam President. Continue if you will."

Laura nodded,

"Admiral, what is the status of the fleet?"

"The dogfight was pretty one-sided. The fighters we didn't destroy with the suppression barrage got picked up by the Viper Squadrons. They were not as maneuverable, and we lost six birds to their seventy-five. We recovered two of our pilots, and three of theirs, the only ones to eject. No damage to _Pegasus_, and the one missile that got through to _Galactica_ impacted on the hull armor. No casualties or additional damage to the civilian vessels."

"Thank you Admiral."

She turned to the rest of the room,

"You and your people did an excellent job. But now we have nowhere to go, and the Cylons could be anywhere."

Mal spoke up,

"Excuse me, folks, but that ain't exactly so."

Roslin waved a hand, encouraging him to continue,

"See, after U-Day, the Purple Bellies-er- Alliance were celebrating for a week straight. No security anywhere. Friend of mine named Les Martin led a squad of our Commandos, them as was still uncaptured, and any other Independent die-hards still of a mind to fight, and they up and stole the brand-new Alliance Littoral Frigate _Kearsage_ right out of Boros Drive Yards. Renamed it _Whistlin' Dixie_, and lit out for parts unknown. To most. Might be, I'm able to contact them. Now what do you say to that, ladies and gentlemen?"

"Sounds like a damn good idea." grumbled Tigh.

Adama, Roslin, and Lee nodded, and then Roslin spoke;

"We would like to send a few of our people too, if that's all right with you, Captain?"

"Fine by me," Mal answered, "long as they ain't too conspicuous."

Adama nodded,

"Sounds reasonable, we've installed a Raptor FTL on _Serenity, _so why don't I send the Chief Tyrol and a few engineers for troubleshooting the engine, and some Marine-"

"No Marines," Interrupted Mal. "Remember 'conspicuous?'" Me and mine can handle ourselves in a fight, and if we gotta meet with any Independent resistance Cells, your Marines just scream, 'Alliance!' Don't much matter what they wear."

"One Marine." Adama shot back. "Gunny Hadrian."

Mal smiled. "Alright. It'll be worth it- just to see Jayne's reaction."

"Good" responded Adama. "You leave tomorrow, and so will we. I'll give you the rendezvous, Captain Reynolds."

**Chapter 5: Bar-the-Way**

_There's battle lines bein' drawn  
Nobody's right if everybody's wrong_

_-Buffalo Springfield: For What It's Worth_

SERENITY MESS HALL

The crew of _Serenity_ and the personnel from _Galactica_ were gathered around the dining table for a briefing and discussion. In addition to Chief Tyrol and Gunny Hadrian, Cally and Jammer from the Chief's crew were present as well. An FTL drive from a scrapped Raptor was installed and working at parameters, all that remained was an FTL test.

Mal gave them the particulars,

"So, now that we know these Cy-lons are runnin' the government, it explains the repressiveness of the Alliance regime, and the reason for the start of the Unification War. 'Pears to me as if they wanted to get us divided and proceed in us beatin' each other down, then they can come in and blow up the pieces."

"Seems a sound theory, sir" remarked Zoë, "As I recall, Alliance Fleet had its budget and ship production reduced even before the Battle of Serenity. I've always been wondering why."

"The plan," Mal continued, "is to track down any Independent resistance cells still operatin'. See if they can help us track down the _Whistlin' Dixie_ and any other Independent fleet ships that didn't disarm come U-Day."

"I Reckon we need to form a coalition against the Cylons, when more come, if they come, and try to sway any Alliance ships we can. That means we need evidence of the skinjobs' tampering. First things first, though, we find the _Dixie_, and talk to Les and the crew, get them on board. That means contact with a resistance cell. Closest one I know of is on Beaumonde, led by Nate Bradley. Goes by "Brad" He's crafty, and a sonofabitch on and off the field. Bit twitchy, so no uniforms or rank from any _Galactica_ crew that go with us." "You all got civvies?"

The Colonials nodded, but Hadrian added,

"Captain, for this mission, we have been directed to obey your chain of command. Civilian clothing makes sense, but I'm a trained soldier. I won't be in a skirt. Are we clear?"

"Crystal." Answered Mal.

"Wouldn't mind seeing you out of one," remarked Jayne, quietly.

This pearl of "wisdom" might have gone ignored but for the fact that Jayne had been seated directly across from Hadrian. She immediately stood, reached across the table, and twisted his right arm into a very uncomfortable position, and pinning his face to the table with the other. Her expression did not change.

His did. To agony.

"Gahhhhh! Mal! Zoë, little help here!" he cried,

The two people in question stared at him, shrugged, and Mal gestured to Sgt. Hadrian,

"Continue if you would,"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Cobb, I was unable to hear all of your last comment. What precisely did you say?"

Jayne was stunned. The only other women in his life he had been afraid of in his life were his mother and Zoë. He mentally added Hadrian to the list, while computing a response,

_I'm still right though,_ he thought, _she does have nice legs._

"Uh. nothing. Er. I didn't mean anything by it. Won't happen again. Honest!"

Hadrian raised an eyebrow.

"I'm sure you are." She said, slammed his head on the table, and turned to Mal.

"Anything else Captain?"

"Nah, that's about it. Sorry you had to do _my _job for a bit there."

"Very well, Captain," she stared at a somewhat groggy Jayne, "I'll be in my rack."

Wash, we're heading for Beaumonde. Chief, get that FTL prepped, and link it to the navcomp. Jump insystem far enough out so we can keep our little ace-in-the hole a secret."

Dismissed, everybody."

"You got it" said the quirky pilot.

The room emptied, leaving Jayne still on the floor.

Mal poked Jayne a couple of times, until the lummox regained most of his clarity. Looked him in the eye.

"Jayne. Do you know what the chain of command is?"

_Aww Crap._ Thought Jayne.

Mal reached into a supply locker and pulled out a silvery chain attached to a cardboard sign that read, in flowery Kaylee-script; _Chain of Command._

"It's the chain I beat you with until _you_ understand who's in command here."

"Gorramit, Mal!" Jayne groaned. "you stole my line. My one good line."

Mal's eyes twinkled for a minute, then grew cold.

"Keep a civil tongue in your head. Or I'll let Hadrian rip it out.

He slung the _Chain of Command_ back into the locker and left.

"Mal"

Inara's voice behind him. She must have been waiting by the door.

He turned around, her beautiful face looked drawn, worried. He decided this was no time to be funny.

"Yeah, Inara, what is it?"

"Why are you doing this? This isn't your fight, and you could get a lot of people killed. People who sat in that room moments ago, your friends. Do you even know why?"

" 'Nara, these Cylons with the Alliance, mean to end us. All of us. Humanity. If it takes till a year from now, even ten, it don't matter. We go our merry way and do nothing to stop this, the end'll come, one way or another. If not for us, then to our children or theirs. No bright future for humanity. It just stops, it's over.

Mal shrugged, weakly,

"If I don't stop this when I had the chance, I couldn't live with myself."

Inara placed her hand on his shoulder, and looked at him with compassion,

"I'm glad to see you have good reasons, Mal, but you can't let a desire to take revenge on the Alliance distract you from the real problem. Ever. You say you couldn't live with yourself if you didn't take action. Now imagine how you would feel if Wash, or River, or even Jayne were to die, not for the "greater good," but for Malcom Reynolds' Vendetta. Please, Mal, don't make this personal."

She gave his shoulder a squeeze and walked away, leaving Mal, for once, without a comeback.

ONE DAY LATER

BEAUMONDE,

With the rest of the crew back on _Serenity,_ Mal, Zoë, Hadrian and Tyrol stood outside the dingy entrance of the Maidenhead Tavern, located in the seedier section of the spaceport. They all wore brown or brown-ish coats.

Mal decided to explain to the two Colonials why they were visiting a bar instead of asking around for Nate Bradley.

"Nate's war-buddy Al Bergstrom owns the joint. Uses the shipment of bar supplies to smuggle in weapons and other gear. We need to talk to him to get to Bradley. Now. There's a weapons check area up front, so leave your visible "iron" there.

Hadrian and the Chief nodded, and the group went inside.


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 5: Fortunate Son**

**BEAUMONDE**

_**It's Forty shillings on the drum,**_

_**For those who volunteer to come,**_

_**To 'list and fight the foe today,**_

_**Over the hills and far away,**_

_**Over the Hills and Far Away, **_

_**Song of the British Rifle Brigade**_

As Galen Tyrol walked down the stairs into the bar area, he could not help but notice that he inside of the Maidenhead resembled that of many of the bars in Caprica City's Red Light District which he remembered from "field research" while on shore leave as a younger crewman on the _Atlantia. _ With one small difference. Caprica bars, no matter how seedy of a neighborhood they were in, did not possess an area to check one's weapons. As only military or police could legally carry them around at all times, it was not seen as necessary.

Tyrol observed Mal's action of opening a compartment on a large, rusted revolving cylinder, putting his strange, archaic looking pistol into it, and pulling a small, numbered chit from the slot below.

Now aware of the routine, Tyrol drew his Ares Armaments Standard Issue Side-Arm, with its bulky explosive-charge launcher, from its holster, and placed it in another bin, claiming the chit attached, and feeling a bit uneasy at being unarmed. As Hadrian did the same, he observed the smug look on her face as she locked away her only visible means of protection.

The Chief felt a bit better; musing,

_I think "__**Visible**__"__is the key here._

As they approached the bar, Tyrol was concerned that Reynolds, with his military background, would neglect the most important part of this or any mission.

He needn't have worried. Mal laid some change in front of the barkeep, holding up four fingers of his right hand, and motioning with his left hand to Tyrol, Zoë, and Hadrian to grab a table at the bar. A tankard of foamy ale was set in front of each of them, and Tyrol took a deep draught.

It tasted like he was trying to drink a loaf of bread.

And Galen Tyrol smiled.

Several sips later, and after the server tended to other customers, Mal lazily threw up a hand and smiled,

"Hey Miss,"

She turned,

"Yeah?"

"Would you please go on back and tell Al that Mal Reynolds is here to see him-"

Her eyebrows shot up, and Mal rolled his eyes,

"Yes, I'm _that_ Mal Reynolds."

"Okaay. Just a sec, sir."

The woman ducked into a curtain behind the bar, and came out a few minutes later with two large men wearing tight jackets that showed off gun-shaped lumps under their left shoulders.

"If you'll come with us, Mr. Reynolds…"

Mal kept his smile, despite the fact that it was looking a little bit strained,

"Sure,"

He turned to his friends,

"You guys wait here, have another round on me; I'll be back in a minute."

As he was escorted down the hallway behind the bar area, the men stopped at a water-stained section of wall. The one on the left gestured forward with his hand, which pierced the wall.

_Huh. _Thought Mal as he walked through, H_oloprojetor. Pricey._

He was surprised to see that the large room on the other side was well-lit. He was not surprised at all by the marked crates of Unification War-vintage Assault Rifles and Heavy Weapons completely filling said room, apart from some narrow aisles to walk through and catalogue the inventory.

Or remove part of it.

After passing two more checkpoints, and being scanned and patted down for weapons, Mal was ushered into a well appointed room with a medium sized wooden table surrounded by comfortable chairs, only one of which was in use.

And the door swung shut, leaving him in the room, with Al.

He was a swarthy, thin man with brown hair, and intense eyes magnified by wide-lensed spectacles. Those eyes glinted darkly as Mal entered the room.

Alvin York Bergstrom looked like the kind of man who was initially ignored or viewed as weak when people first met him. Like Mal did, before the Dyton Campaign. After Dyton, all Mal had for him was a large amount of respect…

_**Interlude:**_

_DYTON, THREE YEARS BEFORE THE BATTLE OF SERENITY VALLEY._

_OUTSIDE THE REFINERY SECTOR_

_OPERATION: "BASTION"_

_The Alliance had launched a midnight raid, walking artillery barrages toward the Independent lines and calling in airstrikes to distract the picquets while an airmobile regiment landed directly behind the front lines. Mal, who could normally sleep through shellfire, woke up to the sound of grav-lift engines, small-arms fire, and grenade explosions. Saw the Purple-Bellies swarming over the trench walls. He was the only one alive in his bunker, and decided to get back to the second trench line._

_Mal tossed a grenade, dove into the communications trench, (dug perpendicular to the line,) and began to run. He scooped up a rifle from the ground, praying it still had bullets, and that it wouldn't jam on him._

_Mal stopped, turning around, lifting the rifle above his head, and squeezing off a burst, and then commenced to running again._

_Reached the chow line, Al's department. Al had moved it closer to the front line so, in his words; _

"_The Boys and Gals on the line can have hot beans instead of cold beans every night."_

'_Bout a week prior, Al had "procured" some real beef, ground it up, and mixed it with the hot sauce every experienced soldier carries with him, cooking up a "Thermonuclear Chili."_

_It was believed by many of the Browncoats on the line that the noises and smells caused by ingestion of Al's chili contravened several strategic arms and inhumane weapons limitation treaties, but despite this, the chili was eagerly (if painfully,) gulped down, and morale had never been higher. _

_The tables that the food trays rested on were tilted over to form a crude barricade, a barricade already strewn with bodies of soldiers from both sides, with a score or so more corpses in dust-dulled purple than his fellow Browncoats._

_Mal dove over the tables, rifle sweeping, until he was almost brained by a disheveled Bergstrom, glasses hanging off of his nose, holding a shattered rifle, club-like, in one hand and a cleaving knife with a bloody edge in the other. Al still had his cook's hat on. _

_Three dead Alliance Commandos, best of the best lay around him, one with a red mass where his face should have been, another with a pounded-in skull, and the third with his head hanging by a small piece of flesh._

_Mal's jaw dropped;_

_Al had growled,_

"_They can have my spatula after they pry it from my cold dead fingers." _

"_YOU BACKBIRTHED WHORESONS ARE __**NOT**__ GETTING MY KITCHEN"_

_As he screamed profanities at the advancing Alliance troops, a scream of a different sort sounded across the battlefield; another artillery barrage. A shell landed in the chow area, blast shoving the tables back, and knocking Mal out, while a piece of shrapnel took off Al's left leg at the knee._

_It took until morning, when Lt. Nathan Bradley, Independent Forces, led a platoon of reinforcements to the one place where the lines had held, and found two friends, seemingly more dead than alive._

Al gestured at his leg, obviously artificial,

"You'll understand if I don't rise."

Gestured with his arm,

"Have a seat, **Mr. Reynolds**."

_Awwww, Crap. _Thought Mal.

Mal sat, and raised an eyebrow,

"Awful formal towards someone who was with you when you lost the gam in the first place, aren't we, Al?"

Al looked hurt.

"You abandoned us, Mal, after Serenity, the war was over, but we were still in the fight, Brad and I, a bunch of others, we didn't give up. You did."

Mal's eyes narrowed to slits.

"You sonofabitch. You fought, yeah, but you weren't on Hera, in the valley. So don't you tell me you know what it's like seeing thousands of men and women, who put their lives in your hands only to get snuffed right after. I started with five thousand effectives, and only seven weeks later, less than 150 walked out. My War was over, I had no more need for vengeance at the expense of the lifes of those I cared about. I was sick. Sick and tired of seeing poor kids like Bendis get cut down in their prime."

"So you took your _sabbatical_," Al shot back, "and now you're back because need my help with your little enterprise. Whatch'ya hauling now, Mal, drugs? Slaves? Googly-headed Geisha dolls?"

Mal looked him in the eye,

"All I want is five minutes of your time, Al, tell you why I'm here."

"Not this time, Mal. Now get out of here, before I have to pull a gun on a friend."

Al gestured to a pistol in a well-worn shoulder holster.

The room echoed to the unmistakable _**-Ca-Click-**_of a pistol being cocked from under the table, where Mal had his hands.

"Too late, Al. Now throw _your_ iron on the table, and hear me out."

"Chou ma niao." (stinking horse urine) Al muttered.

An Independent Arms Pistol of the same make as Mal's clattered on the table, shortly followed by Mal's rolled eyes, and joined by two derringers.

Mal picked up the pistol with his left hand, and brought his right hand out from under the table. It contained a two-cred tin cricket, the kind young kids buy to annoy their parents on their birthday. Mal, grinning, squeezed it. Repeatedly.

_**-Ca-Click--Ca-Click--Ca-Click-**_

"Alright," said Bergstrom, "What's so dammed important you had to get me at barrel's end to tell me?"

Mal explained, starting from when he and his crew first encountered _Galactica, _mentioning the Cylon connection, and showing Bergstrom the multiple pictures of Doral, some from the Colonial Archives.

When he was done, Bergstrom spoke.

"Mal I'm sorry for all that crap I put you through. No one could fake the level of detail that you just described. As for the gun thing, well, serves me right for not listening. It's pretty easy to believe that these folks aren't from the 'Verse. I mean," He smiled, holding up a colonial report page, "What kind of self-respecting person uses eight-cornered paper?"

They laughed for a minute, Then Mal said,

"You understand, I didn't come back to take on the entire Alliance. Just to clean out the top brass, and help some faulty appliances meet their Maker.

Odds are, some Alliance personnel may join us once they hear about this, and I'm gonna give them some evidence that they can't deny."

"Like what?" asked Al,

"Like two massive gorram Battlestars staring down their throats."

Al nodded.

"Sounds like a plan. I'm in"

He stuck out his hand, and Mal shook it.

"Welcome back, Sergeant."

"Good to see you, again, 'Cookie' "


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 7: Take a Deep Breath…**

_** Some folks are born, **_

_** Made to wave the flag, **_

_** Ooh, that red, white, and blue, **_

_** And when the band plays,**_

"_**Hail to the Chief,"**_

_** Ooh, they point the cannon at you…**_

-"_**Fortunate Son"**_

_** Creedence Clearwater Revival **_

PEGASUS BRIG,

AFTER THE BATTLE

Marie Nimitz was far from stupid. She was however confused. Who exactly were these Colonials? Why were they here? And why had that idiot, Harken ordered an attack when he was outnumbered and outgunned?

The Pegasus brig had several cells, each fronted with soundproof, and she assumed, armored glass. One Crew member was ushered into each cell, with a soldier in black combat fatigues at each door. After an hour or so, Marie felt, and her eyelids drooping from the adrenaline letdown. She dozed off, only to be awakened by the hiss of the door opening, and Commander Lee Adama entering the cell carrying a brown folder.

"Sleep well?"

She blinked a couple of times, shrugged,

"Aside from the lack of a bed, yeah, just fine, thanks."

Lee gestured to the soldier outside and two metal, uncomfortable-looking chairs were brought into the room.

He nodded at the chair,

"Have a seat, let's talk"

Marie sat in the chair, at attention, looked Lee in the eye;

"Is this the part where you convince me of my wicked, wicked ways?"

Lee stared right back.

"This is the part where you tell me why you joined the military of a government that conducts medical tests and surgical experiments on little girls."

Marie bristled

"I know you lot aren't Browncoats, but you sound like 'em, always talking about Gho-su (shit) like that in the 'War. Prove it, if you've got a mind to."

He nodded, pulled out a piece of paper with English and Mandarin writing over the familiar picture of a young girl with the haunted eyes.

"Have you ever seen a reward bulletin for the capture of River Tam?"

She had. Everyone had. They were posted all over the mess. Dipped her head in acknowledgment.

Lee continued,

"I have an affidavit signed by Dr. Simon Tam, as well as _Galactica's _Doc Cottle, Admiral Adama, and President Roslin that upon medical examination of Ms. Tam, it became evident that her skull was cut open and parts of her brain were removed or tampered with. Multiple times. Her amygdale or the part of brain that regulates emotional control has been removed entirely."

Lee handed her another paper, the medical report. Nimitz skimmed it and paled.

"Now's your chance to convince me you had no part in this."

"Commander Adama, I come from a military family, tradition going back six hundred years, and have relatives in High Command. A lot is expected. Seeing as how you've got an Admiral named also 'Adama.'"

Lee's eyes flicked up,

"I'm going to go out on a limb and assume you know something of _my _reasons for joining military service. As for joining the fighter corps, well, I love to fly, simple as that. Damn good, too, provided I've got a decent bird under me."

"I do not approve of medical experimentation on humans."

_Well, _thought Lee,_ At least I'm making some kind of progress here._

He then proceeded to give her a brief history of the Colonies, Cylon War and the flight from the Colonies, as well as multiple photos of Aaron Doral, some in Colonial dress, some in the dress of a Minister of Parliament.

Lee concluded,

"Since the Cylons are already here, there is no telling how far they have subverted your government. Or how much of the Alliance Fleet they have sabotaged. Lieutenant Nimitz, it is in your own best interests to help us."

Marie stood, followed by Lee,

"Be that as it may Commander Adama, I have taken an oath of loyalty to the Alliance Fleet and the government it defends. If it is directly threatened, by the Cylons, and you can provide more evidence than some poor-quality photographs, I will assist you.

Until then, the only information about the organization you will obtain from me is my name; Marie Elizabeth Nimitz, my rank: Lieutenant, Junior Grade, and my serial number:

AF 93460528. Good day, Commander."

She saluted, and Lee returned it.

Before he left, Lee left her with a final thought, and the last word;

"The sole reason your ship was destroyed was Cylon manipulation. Melodrama aside, I hope for your sake that is all the information we require from you. Sleep well, Lieutenant."

She had seen the explosion of _Dortmunder_, and had lost most of her friends, her family, and all that remained were two men in cells next to hers. For their sake, she would not cry.

TWO DAYS LATER

ASTEROID BELT, BIRNHAM QUADRANT

RAG-TAG FLEET

BATTLESTAR GALACTICA,

After viewing the entire 'Verse from _Serenity's_ navcom, Admiral Adama determined that the most sensible course of action was to travel to the 'Belt, a large ring of mineral rich asteroids on the near the Birnham Quadrant to search for tylium fuel as well as ore for the construction of new Vipers on Pegasus. The databanks also mentioned that comets had been captured, so the possibility of gaining more water was open as well. Bill Adama wanted his fleet in top fighting form for any potential conflict with the Cylons or Alliance vessels. After Roslin agreed, the fleet had jumped.

They had emerged on the far edge to avoid detection by mining vessels, as most would not venture out that far. The database had not mentioned any other threats or notable aspects, but Mal had passed on word about Reavers and their probable habits.

Despite the fact that these pirates sounded like something out of a make-believe tale to frighten children, Adama would not be taken off guard. After Armistice Day, there had been little for the Colonial fleet to do besides hunt pirates and arrest smugglers. Bill Adama was very accomplished at both. Three twisted hunks of modified and garishly-painted First-war Cylon Basestars still disintegrating around Gemenon Lagrange-3 could attest to that. As soon as Raptor runs yielded evidence of Tylium and ore, Adama ordered a double-strength CAP. As the asteroids were playing hell with the Dradis, long range Viper patrols were dispatched as well. This was harder on the pilots and "knuckle-draggers" especially with Tyrol gone, but Deck Chief Laird from the Pegasus had dispatched a competent subordinate, and more nuggets were signing up for the Pegasus-based Flight School every day. Seemed like everyone wanted to be the next "Starbuck."

Actually, it _had _been her idea to transfer two flight simulators from Pegasus to the Cloud Nine Promenade, and open to all. Children as young as twelve were volunteering, but Adama was not that desperate yet.

So far, the mining was proceeding without a hitch, and many in the fleet felt that they could relax a bit and breathe easy. D'Anna Biers said it best;

"Now it's time to release that breath we've been holding for almost a year, to stop and appreciate life. This may be the last peaceful time for a while, and I for one intend to make the most of it."

While smiles and uninterrupted sleep came easier, the alertness among the military had not slacked one iota. The combination of Saul Tigh and the two Adamas worked wonders for discipline, as well as incentives of extended shore leaves aboard Cloud Nine for noticeably hardworking personnel.

While Adama slept, Saul Tigh paced the CIC like a caged animal on third watch, waiting for something to go wrong. His pessimism was rewarded when the P.O. at the com. board instinctively reached for his headphone-covered ear before putting the message up on the CIC speakers.

"Sir, message from the Viper patrol Two! 'Chopper' and 'Snitch:'"

_Galactica, 'Chopper,' Unknown craft heading directly at us. Looks like a frakkin' junkyard! It hasn't responded to our hails, and is maneuvering to bracket us. -elieve hostile intent, request permission to engage and destroy."_

"Sir," Gaeta piped up; "I'm getting a lot of residual radiation from the area the patrol is in. It could be those Reavers Reynolds was telling us about."

Tigh nodded, growling,

"Launch Vipers, set Condition One throughout the ship!"

Picked up the intercom again,

"'Chopper' this is Tigh, you've got reinforcements inbound to last reported position. Stay evasive, and put a burst across the thing's nose, if it doesn't turn around right away, frag it."

"_Yessir. Thank you sir."_

A moment later,

"_Target destroyed"_

Tigh picked up the cup of "coffee" he always took on watch, sipped and coughed. He turned to the P.O. at the com board.

"Get me Adama. Things just got even more frakkin' complicated."

BEAUMONDE,  
SPACEPORT

It had been good seeing Brad again; He and Al had a good setup. The Maidenhead employees were Independent cell members, and rotated in and out of the city, to a Brad's Farm, in the country where they would train. He had even seen fit to send some of his produce along for a "legit cargo" and to give the crew something fresh to eat. The produce had been crated in the cargo hold, and _Serenity _had lifted, bound for Athens Skyplex, the where the last recorded sighting of the _Dixie_ had taken place, around four years prior.

It was the dead of night, the "Witching hour" as it were, when Gunny Jess Hadrian was awakened by a rap at her door.

After pulling on a pair of BDU's, she slid open the door, dimmed lights revealing the figures of Mal, Jayne, and Al Bergstrom.

"Got something you should be aware of, Gunny." Said Mal, "come quietlike"

As the four of them padded into the cargo hold, Al limped over to a set of produce crates in the middle, under the others, slid a panel out, and pulled out a large drawer on each one. The drawers contained the largest man-portable weapons that Hadrian had ever seen. As well as lots of ammunition.

"Frak me," she muttered.

"Gorram," grunted Jayne "looks like an AR was unfaithful with a cannon." He grinned.

"Shiny."

Al spoke up,

"These are Optimum Fire High Explosive-Delivering Rifles. Packs a 6.8 mm assault carbine on bottom, and a dumb-fire 20 mm cannon on top. Al picked these up military-er _surplus_. Figured they'd come in useful if we run into any Cylon Centurions-or hell, even light armor. They come for us; we arrange they should run into these. Simple as that"

"These should come in very handy," mused Hadrian, "Thank you for trusting me with this knowledge, Captain."

Despite the fact that all four of the people in the cargo bay were combat veterans, they failed to notice the figure of Inara Serra in the shadows at the top of the gantry.

LONDONIUM

HALL OF PARLIAMENT

It was a nondescript conference room, and there were thirty-nine others like it in the building.

A dark-skinned man in a blue tunic approached the door lock, and palmed in. The screen on the lock showed neither name, rank nor any kind of Ident number. Yet the door opened.

_Parliamentary override._

The man walked into the conference room, stood at attention before the bland-looking brown-haired man who had assumed control over the New Cabinet so effectively.

"I await your orders sir."

Doral paused for a minute, and slid a folder over the Operative, who opened it.

The first page bore a Special Directive authorizing him complete autonomy from all restrictions, as well as giving the bearer absolute authority over anyone in Alliance space, military or civilian.

Doral stared at the Operative, and then spoke;

"How would you like to bring about a better world, a world without sin?"


	4. Chapter 4

Ladies, Gentlemen, and fellow sentient beings not matching either of the preceding in manner, bearing or posture; (myself included,)

Join Me for a new Chapter in this exciting (I hope) Saga.

Kind comments and constructive criticism are appreciated, (ego stroking is always a plus,) with idiocy and general assholery cheerfully ignored.

For those of you who notice, yes. I am name dropping.

Enjoy:

**Chapter 8: 'Til Death**

_-If I Should Fall From Grace with God_

_The Pogues_

SERENITY, 

ONE DAY FROM ATHENS

Something in Mal had changed since the reunion with his old comrades. He became uncommunicative on matters other than what was absolutely necessary to run the ship, and two nights after lifting from Beaumonde, Mal had shut himself in his bunk with a bottle of cheap sake, no glasses, and orders not to be disturbed unless something went cataclysmically wrong. The crew was worried, and even Al and Zoë who had known him the longest, didn't know what was bothering him.

It was dinner, and Mal was not there, for the third night running.

"At least he's not drinking on duty like some-," said Cally, who then clamped her mouth shut at a pointed glare from Tyrol.

"You don't know what it is?" asked Al

"You've known him longer than I, something happen early in the war, when you two served together?" Zoë returned.

"Met him about a year after it started, always seemed like he had a chip on his shoulder, even before Shadow was-er-"

"Made an 'example' of?" interjected Book,

"Yeah," said Al, "Something's eating at him, and the mood he's in, I ain't goanna be the one ta find out."

"Speakin' of eatin'," Jayne mumbled through a mouthful, and shooting out a ladle-filled hand for more, "anyone here wanna eat the last bit of chi-"

_**-SMACK!-**_

Another ladle, this one in Inara's hand gracefully, and firmly pinned Jayne's hand to the table.

"I'll take some dinner to Ma-him. Perhaps he'll talk to me. Or at least eat something other than distilled rice."

"Awww," whined Jayne, "c'mon' 'Nara, the end of the stew's got all the best stuff, the most insides."

Inara made up a tray and left the room.

"Alright, Jayne," sighed Zoë, "You can have the last of tomorrow's stew, if you don't complain any further."

"Shiny, you got a deal."

The rest of the seated diners smiled, except Hadrian, who smirked.

"What's so ruttin' funny?" he growled.

Fighting down laughter, Wash managed to get out,

"There's the fact that we're not having stew tomorrow."

"GORRAMMIT! I'll be in my bunk!" and with that, he clomped off.

Inara made her way to the ladder leading to Mal's bunk. Managing to get down it with a tray was a challenge, but not impossible for a person with her coordination. She took a look around, and was surprised to see the formerly relatively neat, well-lit cabin in darkness and disarray. Mal's prized collection of "real paper" books were scattered across the bed, and ration bar wrappers were all along the floor. The only light came from a small lamp on the desk, illuminating a half-full sake bottle, and the silhouette of a man bent over a slim volume.

His head turned, revealing messy hair and bloodshot eyes.

"Well," he said, not slurring anything, "this is a bit of role reversal, ain't it?"

_He looks like hell,_ thought Inara, though not unkindly.

"I brought you dinner, and I am not intending to pry into your affairs, so, no, not exactly."

"Still barged into my quarters, without my say-so," he shot back, "you keep this up, your grammar's like to go downhill, and you'll take an interest in 'petty thieving.' "

He quirked an eyebrow, almost mechanically, the riposte had no life in it, like he was doing it out of habit."

Inara nodded to herself. _The hell with habit, the hell with decorum! _She slid the tray onto a table, and started in.

"Cut the crap, Mal." His eyebrows shot up, "If you won't drop the act and tell someone what this is all about, and get it off your chest, you will be no good to anyone, unfit to command- you don't want Jayne taking over, do you?"

Mal cracked a small grin.

"Figured someone would come down here and say something like that, didn't think it would be you."

"Cliché as it may sound, Mal, there is no good holding your emotions inside all the time. If you won't talk to anyone, there is no closure, no resolution for whatever is troubling you."

Mal's eyes narrowed,

"I wanted psychobabble, I'd talk to a psycho-whatever"

"Part of Companion training _is _psychology, Mal, It's not just sex, it involves understanding someone's innermost self."

Mal gently rested his head in his crossed arms.

"I thought I said no psychobabble." Came the muffled voice.

Picked his head up,

"'Nara, I ain't ever told you how I feel-"

"You never had to." She reached out her hand, Mal took it.

"What we got here on this boat is a family, mighty dysfunctional one, but made of people I'd do anything for."

"I told you once; you can't just open the book of my life and jump in the middle."

"Mal-"

"Now I ain't plannin' on jumpin' into the very beginning, but I feel I owe you some kind of explanation, as to why I shut myself off from y'all."

He held up the book he had been examining, more of a pamphlet, really. Inara took a look at the cover. It showed the picture of a sizeable ranch, overlaid with elaborate lettering. It read;

_Reynolds Academy Yearbook,_

_Class of 2501_

"Bit of a joke, really, only six of us in the class, my Ma taught it when there was no work could be done, taught it well, mind you, just me and the other Hands' kids. She wasn't one for mean-spirited superiority over those as had less coin."

"Kids didn't treat me no different, we were all born within a year or two of each other, been together since before we was walkin' and talkin'. Go ahead. Open it."

The next page, slightly faded, showed six young men and women at a picnic. Three boys, two girls, and Mal, looking impossibly young and-well- _happy. _Noglint of suspicion darkened his face. Only determination, and assuredness, like he could do anything.

He pointed each one out in turn, "That's Katie on the left, burning the water, Johnny with the remote controlled rover, Jean with her nose out of a book for once, Ben with the spatula, and _his_ nose in a pot, jambalaya, I believe that was, and of course, Jim, eyeballing Katie."

Mal wiped a speck of 'dust' from his eyes, continuing,

"Month after that, the Burgesses began discussing the possibility of unifyin' the colonies, we all joined the 57th Rim Rangers, sort of a grown-up version of Scouts, keep order and see the 'Verse." After the Burgesses was dissolved and 'became' Parliament, the Rangers were called to regular service, 'cause we had no army."

Looked at Inara "If I'm boring you?"

"No. Please go on."

"57th Rim Rangers became the Overlanders and we went off to Advanced Training on this "Great Adventure," too young and stupid to think it would go on past the first Christmas. Well, it did. The rest, as they say, is history. And so are they."

He paused, swallowed.

"Johnny died in a training accident. During the Perth Campaign, Katie tried to defuse an unexploded bomb without the proper tools. Jim got his head blown off pulling one too many trench raids after Katie bought a plot. Ben. Ben died when the water went bad on Santo. And Jean-"

"She was-"

"Yeah. She was special. We- It's done. Been done for a while."

"Alliance was experimenting with some new kinda gas on Verbena. The platoon went it to take it out, which we did, and nearly got away clean. Then the Purplebellies got wise. Started shooting, and a slug got stopped by her gas mask pouch. Didn't know it at the time. When we got out of sight, a skiff laid down a cloud of something all over the area." We were almost out, but she caught a whiff through the bullet hole."

Three weeks she lay in the evac hospital, paralyzed from the neck down and in pain the whole time. Docs couldn't do anything, and finally one of them handed me an overdose of Morphia, turned around and left the room. There was nothing to say. I looked at her, held up the hypo, she nodded, and I- I took the pain away."

"You did the right thing, Mal." Inara said.

"I know that. I also made a promise that I wouldn't lose any more family, if I could help it. Someow I ended up with a new one, on a new "Grand Adventure," and the promise stands. Anything happens to you-"

"With that arsenal amidst the carrots and potatoes in the hold, do you think it's likely to?"

Mal looked puzzled for a minute.

"I have no idea what you're- You sneaky little- wait. You're not mad?"

"There is a war on, and everyone else seems to have taken up the hobby of arms collecting. I may as well bend with the trend. Did you ever stop to think I'd like one of those Optimum-Fire-"

"'Nara, we just call 'em BDG's: Big Damn Guns."

"Very well. I think I'll keep it under the incense.

"If that even is incense."

Her eyebrows shifted, ever so slightly.

"Mal, be silent, and eat the stew."

"Yes Ma'am"

BIRNHAM QUADRANT

RAG-TAG FLEET

CLOUD NINE

Gaius Baltar was confused, scared, and more than an ensey bit paranoid. After the attacks, those three emotional states had moved not only moved into his brilliant mind, but had set up permanent residence in the back, and, along with a certain very beautiful, rather vicious, and quite imaginary, had taken up residence next to the already present jealousy, genius and nymphomania that comprised the majority of his vaunted brain.

He had received a summons from someone claiming to have knowledge that would either raise him to new heights of personal power, or dash him to the proverbial space buzzards after he took a Roslin approved one-way trip through an airlock. Without a suit, of course.

But this was just his ample supplies of fear and imagination running far away with him. The note was short and to the point;

Corner table of the Starlight Lounge, ten AM, accept your destiny, or face your destruction.

-A friend

He went, he sat, and waited for whomever had sent him the note. Waited some more.

"Gaius."

There it was. That voice, always in his mind, Taunting him.

Or over his shoulder. _Gina._

She was wearing an unadorned black dress, darkened blond hair cascading down her back in a simple braid. Even Caprica had never looked so alluring. Or it was the fact that he hadn't taken a Vice Presidential vacation in days. Probably the latter.

_How dare she manipulate me like this?_

He bristled;

"You could have picked a better way to get my attention. Perhaps one that didn't frighten me half to death."

He extended a hand to the booth across from him.

"Will you sit? Or would you like to be noticed?"

She sat.

"I simply pursued the course of action most likely to achieve a result. You. Here. Now."

Now Gaius was just plain pissed,

"Patronization aside, did you actually call me here for something, or did you just want to prove you have leverage over me?"

"Very well. No more small talk or threats. The entire Demand Peace cell is set to hijack a ship and take it to the Alliance Government, which, as we know, is Cylon-controlled."

Voice not rising above a whisper, Gaius started in;

"Are you mad? The same government that just fired upon the 'Fleet, and sacrificed one of their own fessels for laughs? What makes you think for a split second that they won't simply blow us to hell as well?"

"The fact that I am a Cylon, there are others, as well as possession of a suitcase full of blueprints of every ship in the fleet, and the size, strength, and disposition and morale of the personnel and equipment aboard Galactica and Pegasus. They don't know how weak they really are."

"You want me to come with you?

"Yes. You will provide the 'carrot' of scientific knowledge, as well as being a political representative."

"Not a legitimate one if I do this!"

"Perhaps in the Alliance Government, then."

_Come now Gaius,_ teased the voice in his head,_ wealth, money the fame of being a newly discovered human from an unexplored part of the galaxy, a research post, glamorous parties, many willing women. Do I have to spell it out for you any further?"_

And while she was talking, the rest her perfectly formed body went to work on his.

_Remember, Gaius, we do have an open… relationship._

"Oh Gods! Yes!" he exclaimed, loudly and with feeling. The majority of the Starlight lounge was suddenly paying very close attention to that section of the room.

Gaius flushed,

"Er-Um I mean. Of course I'll do it. Which ship are we taking?"

"That's not important."

She rose.

"Come with me."

"But there are so many matters I have to attend to-"

_Whoever she is she can't be that beautiful. Or that worthy of being killed over._

Gina had a very small bulge on her right hip. Barely noticeable, but it just screamed: 'CONCEALED WEAPON!'

"Coming!"


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 9: A Sea of Troubles**

"_**Let us not rail about justice as long as we have arms and the freedom to use them!"**_

_**-**_**Duke Leto Atreides, **

**from Frank Herbert's Dune novels.**

BIRNHAM QUADRANT  
RAG-TAG FLEET

S.S. ADRIATIC BRIDGE

Ron Barkett, Captain-Owner of the _Adriatic_, was a suspicious, uncompromising man determined to protect his business and his home. If this involved attaching antiship missile batteries to his ship even in an age when piracy in the Colonies was almost completely gone, then so be it. It also meant that _Adriatic_ was capable of defending herself quite well, as it proved in the initial Cylon assault on the Twelve Colonies. The crew collected on bar bets for weeks afterward when they finally showed sensor recordings proving that an older bulk freighter carrying a large cargo of fast-growing hybridized grain, among other items _did_ in fact shoot down the six Cylon Raiders that menaced it on that first day. Eventually, Chief Tyrol had painted six large kill silhouettes on the bow, and the Galactica pilots had thrown an "Ace" party for the _Adriatic_ bridge crew.

Which was why he was staring so intently at the shuttle from _Cloud Nine_ now approaching his vessel.

"Ard?" He asked the com officer, "did we have a supply for the botanical crusier scheduled for today?"

"I think they got all the grain they could use last run," Ard responded, "But I'll check the manifest and shipping orders. Gimmie a sec."

He bent over the console,

"Confirmed sir, Shuttle Eight at 0930 hours for a grain shipment."

"They're over half an hour early," Barkett mused. "Good."

As the airlock opened, and the shuttle crew strode in, the operations officer couldn't help but notice that there was something familiar about one of the women, tall, with dark blond hair and glasses, but she looked like…he couldn't place it. The other was older then her, bony, with a craggy, sarcastic face, and graying hair.

The woman was wearing a civilian flightsuit had a clipboard/storage box tucked under her left arm. She gestured at the clipboard,

"Here's a list of the amount of wheat I'm supposed to pick up, I'm going to need to see your captain for a sign off on the manifest."

"Um. Sure." He mumbled, "Follow me." He set off down the corridor to the bridge.

A minute later, he turned and regarded her with a quizzical glance;

" 'Scuse me, Ma'am but Have you made this supply run before? Because you look awful fa-"

"Oh look," she said, indicating the bridge door, "We're here"

The ops officer swiped an ID card through a slot on the side, and, fumbling a bit, while the woman crossed her arms impatiently, he pulled the door open.

"Thank you," she said, and shot him in the leg with one of the two small automatic pistols she produced from a compartment in the storage section of the clipboard. The other, she handed to the man behind her, and together, they entered the _Adriatic's_ bridge, guns raised

"Hands up!" shouted the man, "get away from the consoles and against the wall!"

As the bridge crew complied, Gina quickly and efficiently bound their hands with plastic ties, the kind used to secure loose cargo.

The older man shrugged his bony shoulders, sighed;

"A Clichéd threat, but with enough firepower to back it up, it works every time."

"Just get on with it, Cavil," Gina snapped.

"Ah, but melodrama is so- oh very well," he went over to the console, and pressed the button for shipwide intercom.

"Crew and residents of the _Adriatic_, we of Demand Peace require this vessel, as a show of good faith," he covered the microphone,

"and much as it goes against my personal _grain_,"

the bridge crew winced; apparently terrorism also extended to bad puns these days,

"we will let you all go unharmed, into the cargo pod, which will be separated from the ship. Any attempt at sabotage or resistance will result in immediate and permanent disciplinary tactics. _Please_,"

Cavil rolled his eyes,

"Don't try us. Or do. And then we kill you."

He released the button.

Five minutes later, four armed members of Demand Peace escorted a visibly trembling Gaius Baltar from the shuttle to the bridge of _Adriatic_. Meanwhile, the fifty crew and nearly three hundred passengers were marched into the cargo pod by additional members of Demand Peace.

GALACTICA CIC

"Sir!" cried Gaeta, as a section of the DRADIS display began to beep; "_Adriatic _is maneuvering erratically- wait- I'm getting two readings of velocity!"

Adama whirled around,

"Get the CAP over there, I want a visual, launch a second patrol to cover them! Set Condition One throughout the ship!"

The DRADIS flashed,

"Sir! Sensors read a jump! But I'm still reading _Adriatic's_ IFF Transponder! Wait. It looks like she just lost half her mass; Got it! It's the cargo pod!"

Adama nodded,

"Dispatch a Raptor with Marines to that pod, if everything checks out, I want it in the port landing bay."

"Yessir" Gaeta picked up the handset.

ATHENS SKYPLEX

SERENITY DINING HALL

"Athens Skyplex don't allow firearms, got metal detectors everywhere, and the security force tends to frown on weapons of any sort, so, when you pack them; be discreet."

"We're lookin' for the station-master, owes me a favor, but he may not let me collect, jerk that he is, so, Zoe, Jayne, and Hadrian are coming with me, and the rest of you will stay on the Skyplex's promenade and gossip-surf for anything ya hear about the _Dixie_."

Wash's hand shot up.

"Ooh. Pick me! I like talking about people behind their back."

"Done. Just don't get yourself into any trouble, That's probably what we'll be doin'. Let's move, people, we got us a station-master needs speaking to."

Mal and co promptly made their way through the nearly full cargo bay, and into Athens Skyplex proper.

ATHENS SKYPEX

STATION-MASTER'S RECEPTION AREA

"May I assist you –sir" asked a perfectly groomed and probably perfumed male receptionist in the lush reception area, and in a tone that implied a sincere desire to _assist_ Mal's group-out an airlock.

"I'm here to see your boss. Jeffers owes me a favor."

"We shall see. Your name, sir?"

"Malcom Reynolds and-er-party."

"Ah. Just a moment," the clerk touched his earpiece. How he managed it without mussing his impeccably groomed hair nearly had Mal scratching his own head.

"A Mr. Reynolds and party to see you, sir."

"Terrrribly soooory, sir." The clerk said to Mal, managing to get across through no small effort that he wasn't in the slightest,

"But Mr. Jefferso-Oh. You _do _want to see them?"

He pressed a button on his control console;

"Go on in, He's expecting you."

"I gathered as much," replied Mal with admirable restraint.

Hadrian sniffed for a minute, then stared at the now unsettled receptionist.

"Nice perfume. Know where _I_ could get some?"

Jayne, having learned his lesson for the next several days or so merely snorted and went inside.

Fess Jefferson's office was different than Mal or Zoë remembered.

The homey feeling of rusty orange carpeting and velvet paintings of 'Flip stars had been replaced with a stifling Ancient Earth-that-Was feel, from the Persian-style carpeting ornate printed wallpaper, expensive-looking oil paintings of homes and farm scenes, gilded busts of historical figures, and the many, many types of artfully arranged swords and flintlock pistols arrayed along the walls, many in a tasteful rayed-sun design.

The one feature of the office had retained was the tacky and battered fiberglass desk, and sitting behind it, was the corpulent bald-headed figure of Fess Jefferson himself.

He was seated in front of a curtain, flanked by four guards with halberds, of all things.

As he approached, Mal pasted a false and very cheery smile on his face;

"Fess, Buddy, good to see ya! Looks like your tastes have improve somewhat. Your fortunes, too, if the decorations are any indication."

Jefferson's expression didn't change. Neither did his lack of movement.

_I've got a bad feeling about this_, thought Mal.

But his voice came from behind the curtain.

"Yes, it would seem so, wouldn't it? Except they're not his tastes or money. They're mine."

And a very familiar person strode through the curtain.

Detatching a flexible microphone from his throat, Atherton Wing continued in cultured, petulant tones.

"I made him an offer he couldn't refuse. It _is_ good to see you again, Captain Reynolds."

_Aaahh gho-se._ thought Mal.

Fortunately, his actual response was somewhat wittier;

"Wish I could say the same, Ath." He raised an eyebrow, "By the way, how're those belly wounds of yours healing up? 'Cause stab wounds can be a real bi-"


	6. Chapter 6

**

* * *

**

Well, here it is, as usual, any comments and/or constructve criticsim are welcome.

Thank you all for the kind reviews.

* * *

**Chapter 10: Swash My Buckle**

_**"If you tell me that every man's death diminishes me, **_

_**I'll retort that it diminishes him a hell of a sight more." **_

**-Harry Paget Flashman, ****VC, KCB, KCIE, ****unwilling soldier, self-confessed poltroon and coward.**

**(From George MacDonald Fraser's Flashman novels.**)

ATHENS SKYPLEX  
FESS JEFFERSON"S FORMER OFFICE

"You know, Captain Reynolds," Wing interrupted, "I would say I had missed your boorish mannerisms and crude vocabulary, but that would be a lie. However, I am glad to see you again, as we have unfinished business. Pick a sword. Any sword."

He nodded to the four halberd-toting guards.

"Dispatch Mr. Reynolds' friends by means of airlock, and return to deal with his corpse."

The guards started forward menacingly.

Mal actually smiled; he was goanna enjoy this. Assuming he didn't get corpseafied, of course. He raised a hand, smartass student-like.

"Ath, buddy, coupla things you forgot in this elaborate scheme of creepiness, score-settlin, and really over the top costumes." He cocked an eye at the halberd-bearing henchmen.

"Tights? Honestly, how much is this little 'prince' payin' you to play dress up?'

"Please enlighten me as to anything I may have forgotten, Captain. You were all carefully scanned for weapons before you were allowed in here."

"Okey-dokey." Jayne shrugged slightly, and Hadrian crossed her arms. Zoë just stood there. "You made two mistakes. One-"

Jayne flicked his wrists forward, as if drying his hands and a small gunlike object landed in each one. Hadrian pulled a shiny black knife out of each sleve.

_Mistake number one, _Mal thought;_ you didn't actually have us patted down for non-metallic weapons._

_Mistake number two. You _assumed_ we wouldn't come fully prepared for an armed conflict just because Fess was an old acquaintance._

_Mistake number three. Just for me. You threatened Inara._

Wing's eyes widened and he pressed a panic button on a ring. Immediately, two guards in full body armor bearing military-grade assault weapons stormed through the curtain.

Jayne calmly shot one with his ceramic flint-ignition derringers, and Hadrian nonchalantly put a handmade obsidian knife through the other's eye.

The odds were now five on four. Mal had had worse.

As Jayne let his holdouts fall to the ground, Atherton Wing rushed over to the wall and grabbed a rapier.

The four guards advanced in front of him

Two of the guards approached him and Zoe, assuming that, since they hadn't produced any visible weapons, that they were "softer" targets.

These men hadn't fought in Unification war. They had never learned that a that a rock was quieter, and one hell of a lot more concealable than most firearms, as Mal had on recon into enemy-held towns.

As the first one approached Mal, he narrowly sidestepped the halberd thrusting at him and hit the man in the stomach. As the guard crumpled, Mal tossed the fallen halberd to Zoe. She snatched it out of the air, and headed straight for the second guard, and disabling him in two strikes

Mal turned to see how Jayne and Hadrian were doing, and was surprised to see them fighting back-to-back.

_The fact that they were surrounded probably has something to do with it_, mused Mal.

He was even more surprised to see Jayne wielding a large sword, obviously from the wall display, with something approaching grace and dexterity.

_Time to even the odds._

Mal clenched his fist around the fairly small, but quite heavy rock he had snuck from his pocket before he sucker-punched the guard. He took careful aim, and sidearmed it into the head of the guard closest to him. Then he grabbed one of the very expensive-looking chairs from the wall, and waded in.

_Swordfight? No. Barfight? Hell yes. 'specially on U-Day._

They made short work of the other guard, and had Wing backed into a corner.

They all advanced on him, but Jayne held up his hand.

"Uh-uh" He shook his head. "This one's all mine."

"Ah, Jayne, hate to mention this, but we need him alive, and you-not dead, so, given that he is _good_ with a long blade-"

Jayne glared at him;

"Gorramit, Mal, didn't I tell ya I come from a long line of fencers?"

"Well, yeah. But I was thinkin' picket-fence or split-rail, not-" He gestured at Jayne's blade, "What is that, anyway? Looks like a man could cut down trees with that."

The mercenary grinned evilly. "We did that kind of fencin' too, but a boy's gotta do something, come winter. As for the sword, it's a basket-hilted Claymore. I'm keepin' it when I kill 'im."

By now Atherton Wing's face was bright red, and he was trembling with rage. And fear.

"Can we _please_ just get on with it"

He extended the rapier, point quivering, in a perfect _en garde_.

Jayne matched it, and Mal, Zoë, and Hadrian backed up. The two adversaries stared at each other across the room, one handsome and elegant, with a thin, quick blade, the other, rough and dirty, bearing a weapon with a strong resemblance to a meat cleaver.

If it had been a scene from a storybook, it would be titled, _Noble Paladin confronts Filthy Brigand._ Mal happened to know that while Jayne was occasionally filthy, and usually a brigand, Wing wasn't noble, and certainly no 'Paladin.'

"Jayne," said Mal, "Don't forget. We need him alive."

Jayne nodded.

Neither saluted, and they advanced cautiously, each carefully examining the other for telltale signs of weaknesses. The two men stopped about two feet from each other."

Jayne wrinkled his brow and nodded slightly. Now was the time. He turned slightly to address Mal

"Y'know, Mal, I still can't believe 'Nara uh, lent him her services. Poor taste on her part."

Wing lost it. He had noticed that Jayne left his flank exposed, and he was going to take one of those pirates with him. He lunged-and got his sword blocked by Jayne's heavier blade, which had arrived there seemingly by magic. They stared at each other over the crossed blades for a second.

Then Jayne punched him in the nose. As Wing reached for his now bleeding face with one hand, Jayne grabbed Wing's sword-holding hand with his free one, moved it to the side, and upercutted him with the saber guard. Atherton Wing slumped to the ground like a sack of wet cement.

Hadrian raised an eyebrow,

"I'm assuming that Gentleman is a former acquaintance of yours?"

"Yeah," said Mal, "especially stressin' the -er- 'acquaintance' bit. Didn't expect to see him here though."

Jayne chuckled; "Can you believe that _Hwoon Dahn?_ (jerk) He actually thought I'd fight him straight up swords. I ain't that stupid."

Hadrian stared at him and cocked her head, re-evaluating him,

"No, I suppose not," she smiled a bit, "Even if your grammar could use a bit of work."

Jayne crinkled his brow slightly, then, he scrutinized his muscles, and said, totally deadpan;

"Which one's mah Grammar, anyways?" and winked at Hadrian, who just rolled her eyes, and resolved to remember Jayne's well-hidden craftiness. And his very suppressed charm. After all, he _was_ good in a fight.

After the swords had been piled in a corner, (except Jayne's) Atherton had been uncomfortably bound and gagged in front of the curtain, and the two assault rifles had been appropriated, the four approached the curtain, and slid it aside. They found a room full of New-tec screens, scanners, and processors, loose cash, and a small but well-stocked armory. Everything a criminally inclined dilettante needed to control a space station and a burgeoning criminal empire. Mal spotted an open first aid kit on the table, and looked inside.

Everything was in order, except the hypo-gun held a vial of Dilantin, the sleep medication Simon Tam had used on River.

"Looks like that's what he used on Fess. Let's get the Doc up here. Jayne, bring Ath around, find out where he keeps his secret elevator."

Jayne, Zoë, and Hadrian just stared at him, Zoë shook her head.

"_What_?" Mal shot back, "every self-respecting criminal, amateurs notwithstanding, has a secret escape elevator. It's in the manual."

"Found it." Said Jayne, about two minutes later.

"Alright. Go get the Doc,"

And seeing the pleading look on Jayne's face as he eyed the large sacks of cash,

"Oh, fine. Take as much as you can carry. On your way. I think that's about your ten percent for the next five years anyway… and grab a handcart for the rest."

After Fess was brought around by Simon, (with much re-visitation of his previously eaten meals,) He and Mal sat down at the desk, and began to talk.

"Looks like that's two, ya owe me, now, Fess. If you don't mind me askin', how'd that slimy little prig-" He gestured to Wing, bound and thankfully gagged on the floor, "take over in the first place?"

"Nah, might as well tell ya." The older man shrugged, "Wing was part-owner of the station, and he demanded to come by on an inspection tour. He comes in alone, and pulls out a Tranc'. Then I woke up here, what? Three weeks later?"

Mal nodded.

"Yeah. That's about the size of it. Here's how you pay us back; "You tell us if any of Les Martin's crew stopped by here frequent, and where they were going, you let me take that-" Mal gestured at Wing, and Fess' eyes narrowed, "and we were never here."

Fess pursed his lips, then nodded. "You got it. I just need my ledger." He glared at Wing. "Where'd you hide it, ya sack of shit? And what in the hell did you do with _my_ artwork?"

Mal turned to Jayne. "Un-gag him. If he says he 'doesn't know;' take an ear."

Wing's eyes widened, and his face grew pale.

"I-in the safe," he stammered. "The key's on my neck. As for the 'art,' it's been compacted and jettisoned."

Fess reached into a desk drawer and removed some scissors. Wing fainted, and Fess calmly cut off the end of a cigar before lighting it.

"Boy," he said, "Wing can dish it out, but he sure can't take it.

Half an hour later, the four were back on _Serenity_, with Wing, several million credits in cash, and the next several declared stops for the _Free Enterprise,_ a freighter with known ties to Les Martins's group, confirmed by Wash's group's visit to the rumor mill of the Promenade.

Mal punched the button for shipwide intercom.

"Alright, people, we've got several destinations for the _Enterprise._ Next one on the list is a mining station near the Birnham Quadrant, Which is where we are scheduled to meet the Fleet. We report in, they help us find the ship. It's five weeks away, so we're goanna have to jump."

He punched the Engine room circut;

"Tyrol, Kaylee, rig for an FTL jump to the 'Belt. Wash, plot it."

The blond pilot nodded. "Yes, O' Fearless Leader! Birnham it is!"

Mal punched the shipwide button again.

"This is your Captain speaking…"

In her shuttle, Inara caught a mischevious inflection in Mal's voice.

"_**-**__As you are all aware, we have a distinguished and cultured visitor on board. A would-be criminal kingpin and general asshole rich guy. He has information we need, but I am not authorizing any 'punitive' measures at this time. Jayne, this means you._

_Instead, he will be provided with musical accompaniment in all moments of his day, until such time as he deigns to part with said information._

_I will now commence to playing a selection of said music. That is all."_

The speakers came to life, and a jumbled, screechy, twangy rhythm, if you could call it that, was expectorated throughout the entire ship. Banjos, oddly-pitched Mandarin Fiddles, gongs, and scratchy vocalists, all combined in a damaged form as pseudo-bluegrass known as Prarieharp, widely regarded as the worst in the 'Verse.

As the speakers shut off in her shuttle and the rest of S_erenity, _(except for one small room,)

Inara Serra threw decorum to the winds, sat on her bed and laughed 'til she nearly couldn't breathe.

Kaywinnit Lee Frye never had _Serenity's_ engine room so crowded before, ever. Truth be told, she was glad. Gave them a bit of time for a full tune-up, and, even in she couldn't see Simon as much,

_when would he finally see her? The voice at the back of her head asked,_

Mal had shelled out for most of the new parts she needed. Including two extra catalyzers. "Cap'n Tightpants" wasn't forgetting that lesson in starship maintinence anytime soon, and wouldn't again. Not if Kaylee had anything to say about it.

The Chief, aside from being a damn good mechanic, seemed like a nice man, kinda like Mal, in the way he looked after his people, who kinda hero-worshipped him a bit. Looked to her like Cally wanted to do a bit more than just worship, but Tyrol didn't look to be taking advantage. At times, he'd be laughin' snd jokin' and then get a look in his eye staring off into space, like it held some mystical answer, like he was doin' now, while rigging for a jump.

What was bothering him?

"Chief?" Asked Kaylee, "We ready?"

Tyrol nodded

"Shiny." She punched the button marked "Bridge" on the wallcom.

"Wash, we're ready."

"_That's a rog, Kaylee, jumping in… ten…nine…eight…"_

Kaylee ran her hand over the engine room wall, reassuring her friend, her home,

"C'mon, girl, you can do it," she murmered.

"…_four…three…two…one- JUMP!"_


	7. Chapter 7

Sorry the update took so long, but I had to make this pivotal chapter sound right. I also just got to college, so further updates may be somewhat sketchy. I am NOT however, abandoning this story.

As always, reviews and constructive criticism are welcome. Thanks all to those who have previously reviewed and posted. Your kind words and suggestions are always appreciated. **  
**

**Chapter 11: Stand Up and Be Counted**

"_**More than two hundred years ago, in the closing months of the Second Colonial War, elements of the second and fifth Caprica-Arillon Infantry regiments liberated a Gemenese Biological Testing Facility, a site where civilian 'Undesirables,' mainly atheists and 'deviants' and residing citizens of other colonies were experimented on by the facility scientists, and worked to death in the fabrication plants near the labs.**_

_**The s**__**oldiers of the regiment immediately began summarily executing guards and scientists alike, until Lance Cpl. Decius Shaw, a young farmer from Arillon appealed to his fellow soldiers over the Facility intercom to cease their cold-blooded killing, and try the accused for War Crimes. His exact words have been lost from time, but one line has been remembered by every soldier present, recorded here;**_

'_If we hate our enemies, and then behave like them, torturing and killin' them in cold blood, we become our own worst enemy. And there's no going back.'_

_**The surviving guards and scientists were t**__**ried at the Scorpio War Tribunal, most sentenced to solitary confinement for life. The rest were executed for Crimes against Humanity. **_

_**The Biological Testing Facility remains standing to this day, and has been maintained as a War**__** Memorial in the now-bucolic Gemenese countryside. **_

_**Shaw was later elected by popular vote to the position of Arillon Prime Minister..."**_

**-Excerptfrom****; B****loody Hands: An Accounting of Human Evil, and Those Who Ended It,**** By Mira Soren. Required reading in most Colonial Universities.**

BIRNHAM QUADRANT

RAG-TAG FLEET

After the Reaver vessel had been destroyed, and the _Adriatic _had jumped away, Admiral Adama had put the fleet on high alert, and ordered a military conference with Lee and President Roslin aboard _Galactica_.

Although he could have allowed someone else to fly him over to "the Bucket," after leaving now-Lieutenant Hoshi in command or even taken a Raptor, Lee insisted on taking his personal Viper for the short flight. It was the same one he flew to G_alactica _before the attacks. Chief Laird had kept it in tiptop shape, and Lee needed to keep in practice.

Besides, he loved to fly.

It gave him time to think about all sorts of things including the crew of his ship, the tactical situation, even Laird, who was competent on a professional level, but the loss-_say it, Lee, Murder_, of the man's entire family by the people on same vessel he was pressed onto, had to be taking its toll. Lee resolved to watch him carefully.

The discovery of other humans, which resulted immediately in another war, (albeit through Cylon tampering,) reminded him of the Scroll of Pythia, in which the dying prophet leads her people to the Promised Land, only to be denied entry herself.

_The whole fleet feels like Pythia now, not just Roslin, and _she _was cured._ Lee mused.

_But if the Cylons made it here before us, then why not conquer all? They have superior FTL, and can sustain a higher loss rate._

_So, why weren't we greeted by an entire fleet of Basestars right after we arrived?_

His reverie was interrupted by Capt. Kelly in the G_alactica's _landing bay control room,

"_Viper Four-Five-Zero en route to _Galactica_, you are requested to make a small detour to allow us to replenish the water of the _Gemenon Traveler_, Please come port five degrees."_

A small detour. _Small. _Lee thought, as he made the course correction.

That was it! The Cylons in this 'Verse, as Mal had called it, must only be a _small_ group, catapulted here by whatever had sent the remaining Colonials.

"_Green light for hands-on approach, Apollo, you are cleared to approach," s_aid Kelly,

"Roger that,"

"_Checkers are green, call the ball…"_

GALACTICA BRIEFING ROOM

TEN MINUTES LATER

Bill Adama and Roslin sat and listened to the conclusions Lee had made on the flight over.

"So," Lee was saying,

"_That_ was why they had had to take over secret. They probably only had a Heavy Raider's-worth of people. Only holds around ten Centurions or twenty skinjobs. Moving into the Alliance Government clandestinely was the only way to gain control. They simply didn't have the resources to conquer the 'Verse right off."

Roslin raised her hand to pause him,

"We can also assume that the group Demand Peace has taken Vice President Baltar to attempt to meet with the Cylons in the Alliance government, which leads me to believe that the Demand Peace group may be controlled by Cylons as well.

It also poses the question of precisely _when_ they got here; if they did orchestrate the Unification War to take overall control of, and weaken humanity, when did they start moving in? Unification War was twelve years ago."

"We don't know that," said Bill, "but _I know_ someone who may. Come with me."

BATTLESTAR GALACTICA BRIG

The three leaders of the fleet and the Marines guarding them looked intro the cell and observed its single occupant, The Cylon Sharon Valerii, was talking on the cell's phone link to the man who still loved her, and was spending all of his off-duty time in that cell.

As Sharon saw the Adamas and Roslin, her face fell, and when Helo turned to see what was the matter, his face hardened. He rose.

"Last time you just took blood. Are you here for the whole child this time, Sir?"

Bill looked him in the eye.

"Stand at ease, Lieutenant. I'm just here to talk to i-…her. I'll allow you to come in and visit when I'm done me."

He nodded at the Marine guarding the door.

"Open it."

The door swung open, and the older man entered. Sharon rose, stood to attention, and saluted.

Adama was halfway to returning it before he realized;

_She's not in the military. This one never has been. Not for real._

His hand returned to his side as he looked her in the eye, searching for a glint of mischief, like Kara got when she was being sarcastic.

_Only __while off duty, of course. Except when she wasn't._

He didn't find one, she just looked earnest. But a small grin snuck onto his face, and was just as quickly banished to the back of his mind.

"Sir?" she asked.

"Sit down. You're not in the military."

"You're still the Old Man."

Sharon sat down on her cot.

Adama settled in the chair that had been bolted to the floor across from it. He leaned forward;

"I need the answer to one question, and than I'd like to talk. About your past and your foreseeable future."

She nodded; "Ask away, sir."

"Within the past fifteen years, did any Cylons go missing at or near these co-ordinates?"

He handed her a piece of paper with the nebula's location.

She stared at the paper, and then off into space, as if trying to see through the bulkhead. Then she nodded.

"Thirteen years ago, a force of three Heavy raiders was lost investigating some strange energy spikes near the end of the mon-Oh. They were sent her like we were."

"And they've taken over the local government." He said. Then Bill Adama gave an internal shrug. Now was the time.

"I have some things I'd like to say. I ask you to wait until I am finished to respond to anything."

Valerii's eyes widened, fearful, but there was hope in there. Good.

"All right."

"After aiding Capt. Thrace and Lt. Agathon in surviving on Caprica, you voluntarily surrendered to Colonial Forces. You aided in the discovery of the Tomb of Athena, and have provided _vital _information ensuring the survival of this fleet. You single-handedly disabled a cylon attack fleet.

If you were a human, civilian or military, you would have been awarded a decoration for valor.

However, the fact remains. You are a Cylon. You aided in the attempted Genocide of our people, and the experimentation on a Colonial officer-"

"I didn't ask to be-" Sharon interrupted.

"-_that_ is reality. It is also a fact that, during Admiral Cain's time in command, and despite your loyal service and aid to us, you were forcefully interrogated and nearly raped by an officer of the Colonial Fleet. That action was unconscionable, unacceptable, and morally bankrupt. I wish to extend my sincerest apologies."

He extended his hand to her.

"Go ahead."

"It wasn't your fault, sir. Cain was in command, and you didn't...know"

"I should have."

She nodded.

As a Cylon, a machine, you have no legal status. Neither you, nor your child has any protection from government intervention,"

He glanced at Roslin, who was listening to a mike feed, and looking puzzled.

"You have shown you are worthy of my trust many times over. We have-I have taken information and time from you, and given nothing in return. That's about to change."

Roslin was looking very confused now.

"I'm going to offer you a position as a Lieutenant in the Colonial Fleet, an assignment that carries with it guaranteed citizenship and legal protection in the Colony of your choice. And full citizenship in said Colony for any offspring."

He saw Laura's mouth drop open, ignored it. Saw Sharon start to cry.

"I'll do it" she said through tears.

"Come with me."

He looked at the Marines outside.

"Open it"

They left the brig, and made their way down the corridors to the CIC, Sharon for the first time being unfettered and unescorted.

When they entered the large room, he turned to Sharon, and she stood at attention.

The bridge crew looked at them in amazement

"Raise your right hand and repeat after me."I, Sharon Valerii …"

"I, Sharon Valerii"

"Do now pledge my faith and my loyalty..." said Adama,

"Do now pledge my faith and my loyalty..."

"To the protection of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol." He stopped, took a breath,

"To the protection of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol." Replied Sharon.

"And will carry out the lawful orders of my superiors..."

And will carry out the lawful orders of my superiors...

"As an officer... "

"As an officer..."

"In the Colonial Fleet."

"In the Colonial Fleet."

As Sharon finished, Bill Adama reached into his pocket and removed a small jewelry box, handing it to her.

She opened it; saw it contained a lieutenant's insignia and a set of pilot's wings. It also contains a set of enlistment documents, folded into the box.

Adama handed her a pen, and she signed the bottom of the page.

"Welcome to the fleet, Lieutenant Valerii."

"Until your child is born, you will be on maternity leave, and afterwards, return to duty as a raptor pilot."

Roslin glared at him and jerked her head to the side, a _come here now!_

If he ever saw one.

Bill nodded at Helo, and the lanky ECO embraced the woman he loved.

Laura took Adama aside, away from Lee and the Marines, to a deserted corner of the CIC.

"What the hell are you thinking?"

She hissed

"I'm thinking she's loyal to us," he responded calmly,

"Has provided us with good information and will continue to do so. It's enough. We've done enough to her. You have done enough to her"

"You can't do this Bill."

"Actually, _Laura_, I can. It's a military decision. As an Admiral on detached service during a time of war, I can grant Field Commissions."

"But the child-"

"Let me put this as simply as I can, Laura; that child stays with its mother. Where he or she belongs. You do not study or monitor them further. Stay the _frak_ out of my back yard."

"I hope you can be as contrite if this one shoots you as well. You're making a mistake."

She said, conceding but not content to leave him with the last word.

"Well, then it'll be my mistake. I won't let humanity become its own worst enemy."

Adama turned back to the couple.

Lee watched at a distance, and listened to his father.

"Lt. Agathon, Lt. Valerii, please rise."

They rose, separated and stood at attention.

"At ease. Someone once said commanding a Battlestar is a demanding job,"

Lee smiled, as his father continued;

"That may be true, but it is also not without its perks. One of those being the authority to join two souls in Sacred Union, if they so chose. And while marriage in the service is highly unusual, these are unusual times, and you have both shown the ability and responsibility to carry out your duties first. Do you wish to be joined in matrimony?"

He looked at Sharon and Helo, who glanced at each other, and nodded simultaneously.

He continued;

"Lieutenant Karl C. Agathon, Lieutenant Sharon Valerii, do you swear to love, honor and protect each other as long as you both shall live?" He glanced at Sharon first.

"I do." She said

Then Helo.

"I do."

"Then by the authority vested in me by the Colonial Fleet Command, and as Commander of the _Battlestar__Galactica_, I pronounce you husband and wife. I wish you peace and long life."

Adama looked at Helo;

"You may kiss the bride, Lieutenant"

Helo smiled. "Yes sir."

Helo and Sharon kissed in the middle of the CIC.

Lee looked around the room, his gaze lighting on P.O. Dualla. Their eyes met, and then he looked away. They had tried another date after the Abinell crisis and Billy's death, but something had never felt 'right' between them, like they were just together out of circumstance, or need for human contact, and, after talking about it, with Dee providing her trademark honesty, they had decided to end it.

_Whatever__ 'it' was, _thought Lee, giving himself an internal shake.

_As if__ I was ever meant to be happy with someone._

Adama turned to Tigh.

"Find the Agathons some larger quarters."

Tigh nodded, and turned to his old friend. "I've said it before," he rasped, "and I'll say it again; you are one surprising sonafabitch."

"Thank you." Bill said.

"How do you know you can trust her?" Tigh asked, eyebrow raised.

"I don't." Said Bill, "That's what trust is."

BATTLESTAR GALACTICA CIC

Adama, Tigh, Lee and Roslin were clustered around a console containing a printed map of the Birnham Quadrant. Laura was still inwardly seething;

_How dare he judge __me? _She thought, and then remembered his final words; _I won't let humanity become its own worst enemy._

_Well, frak me,_ she thought. _Bill Adama an intellectual?_

She still saw Leoben spiraling out into space on some nights, even as the faces of the human dead, her friends and family grew fainter. How would _she_ be remembered? As Madam Airlock? Or the woman who led her people to safety? Her mind wrestled with the question as she turned back to the discussion.

Adama was speaking;

"The Alliance has tracked us so far, so we can't stay here. We're almost full up on Fuel, raw materials and water."

Lee pointed to a system on the map;

"How about here? It's isolated, and we can make it in two jumps."

Roslin looked at the map, and saw his finger on stellar co-ordinates labeled: Miranda.

She closed her eyes to blink, and saw an empty city, dust gathering on the windowpanes, and not a soul in sight.

"Miranda." Said Tigh. "The direction that Reaver ship came from? Are you off your rocker-Sir?"

Lee smiled. "Maybe. Or maybe common knowledge places the Reavers at a point here-"

He gestured at a point between Miranda and the rest of the sector,

"Where they base their incursions. We can jump past that, and put the Reavers between the Alliance fleet and us."

"Good thinking," said Adama. "Saul, get a-"

He stopped as he saw Laura clutching the map table, as if to keep from falling over.

"Are you all right, Madam President?" he asked.

She nodded. "I am now. I saw something-a vision. An empty city. Completely empty but there was something decayed there. Decayed and evil. We should use caution when we recon."

"Jump in close to the atmosphere," said Lee. "We're going to need a good pilot."

Adama turned to Tigh again. "Get Captain Thrace and Gunny Matthias' team to the briefing room."

He picked up the intercom phone;

"_Hangar deck__, Nylan speaking"_

"This is Galactica Actual," rumbled Adama. "Prep a Raptor for launch."

"_Yessir"_


	8. Chapter 8

Here it is. The next chapter. Apologies on the wait, college is, well... College.

Many thanks to my wonderful new beta reader-you know who you are...

And for those of you who thought I'd been skimming over Kara… Well, she's not exactly a favorite character. However, for those who like her, here ya go. For those who don't, I wrote her the way I think she should be written. Enjoy, and as always, praise and constructive criticism is always welcome.

Especially praise.

**Chapter 12: Ice and Fire**

"_**I hurt myself today,  
To see if I still feel,  
I focus on the pain,  
The only thing that's real  
The needle tears a hole,  
The old familiar sting,  
Try to kill it all away,  
But I remember everything-"**_

**-"Hurt" by Johnny Cash**

BATTLESTAR GALACTICA,

PILOTS' REC ROOM

Kara Thrace was sitting at a table, leaning back over the chair, and trying to soothe a headache that came from not sleeping. With flying CAP, late-night card games, and constant readiness, lack of sleep wasn't an unusual occurrence for the pilots, especially for her. What _was_ unusual for Kara was that her tiredness was a result of late nights spent _thinking_, not drinking.

_Why are the lights so frakking bright in here?_ Kara thought, as she rubbed her throbbing temples.

_Or maybe it's just me. Frakking figures. I make a promise to someone, and the gods make sure I can't keep it. Are you even alive now, Sam?_

She rested her head on the table, cushioned by her crossed arms. She would not cry. She was Starbuck, the pilot who chewed up Cylons and shat metal ingots. And. She. Would. Not. Let. Them. See. Her. Cry.

Not even over a Pyramid player probably becoming one with Caprica's irradiated soil.

And now there was a better pilot in existence than her.

That shook her more than she was willing to admit.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

BATTLESTAR GALACTICA,

PILOTS' REC ROOM

SEVERAL WEEKS EARLIER

When she first met Wash, he seemed like the kids she ignored in Secondary, the ones who watched the bad science fiction with the bumpy-headed aliens, and made sarcastic cracks in class and then tried to work up the courage to talk to the girls.

He came into the rec room with Helo, _what was he doing, frakkin' adopting people now?_ and a tall, beautiful black woman. Wash was wearing a battered vest with a loud shirt, and looked a bit like Leoben Lite, but one look in his eyes, and you saw the humor there.

Of course, one had to look, first. Starbuck, after three hours off-duty and numerous beers, wasn't having any.

As he walked over to the table where most of the other pilots were sitting, Kara blocked his way,

"Pilots only. You got wings, hotshot?"

The tall woman's eyes narrowed, and she started forward but the small man smiled and held up a hand;

"It's okay, honey," he reached into a Velcro pocket and removed an overflowing wallet. After flipping through various crumpled bills, grimy receipts and library cards from a dozen different worlds, he removed a card with a holographic cover displaying the face and particulars of one Hoban Washburne, stating that he was rated to control and navigate up to a Class V Starship, whatever that was.

"C'mon in, then."

Starbuck held up her hand again.

"She a pilot?" indicating the taller woman.

"She- is my wife-and we just want to have a nice, quiet, real beer."

The as-of –yet unnamed wife of Hoban Washburne gave Starbuck another one of those looks that could melt through a bulkhead and kill anyone on the other side of it.

"Names' Zoe. I'm a pilot," she said, in a quiet, dangerous voice; "Of sorts. Might be I just pilot your ornery, half-soused ass into a bulkhead, less you step aside, and let my man and me have that nice drink we were looking forward to."

Kara nodded, "Fair enough, have a nice time, Hoban."

He just smiled, and stuck out his hand.

"Most everyone calls me Wash."

She ignored it, but grudgingly stepped aside.

"Huh," said Wash in a stage whisper, as he passed, "Didn't know they let the bouncers drink, high-quality establishment like this one."

Starbuck pretended not to hear. She went back to sit down, and watch the odd couple, who were by now introducing themselves around the room. Wash seemed a gregarious, affable sort, and Zoe a bit quieter, and she had looked at Kara like she could see exactly what she was thinking.

_What the frak does she know?_

The banter of the other pilots drifted over to her table, and Starbuck could hear Kat flipping that Top Gun mug lid in that same, annoying way, heard Hotdog's guffaw. She was wondering why she couldn't be a part of them when the answer reared its very attractive, and by now, probably dead, head.

Sam. The one man, aside from Zak, who had loved her, warts and all. _And I killed him too._

Starbuck drifted off for a bit, and must have fallen out of her seat, because the next thing she saw was a pair of feet in long brown boots, and pants leading up to an empty holster on a leg. And a brown hand reaching down to her too-pale-from-artificial-lighting one.

"It's not gonna bring him back, you know," said an even-toned voice.

Kara ignored the hand.

"What are you? Frakking psych-ic?"

"No," Zoe said, as she sat down crosslegged on the deck. "Might be that River, you know, the mentally traumatized 17-year old girl wandering the halls is, but I'm not."

She jerked a thumb back at the buzz coming from the back of the room, "They're worried, though, even if they ain't exactly gonna come out and say it. Pilots.-" She sighed, "I oughta know, I married one. Most of you never talk about anything that bothers you."

"And your Wash does?" Mumbled Kara.

"Sometimes my man does talk too much for his own good, but I appreciate the candor. That being part of the reason I married him."

"And of course you know exactly how I feel, you being familiar with the ins and outs of military service. What, exactly does a merc know about fighting a losing war? You get paid regardless." Said Kara sarcastically, fully aware of Zoe's service in Unification War, hoping she would provoke a fight.

Zoe didn't get angry; she did something crueler. She looked at Starbuck with pity in her eyes.

"This isn't about Sam Anders, anymore. This is about you, Kara Thrace, breaking a promise. You still think you're the only one with problems, don't you?"

"I was pro Army, fought in six years of war, shot my share of Purplebellies, slit more throats and looked into the faces of more boys and girls killed by my own hands than I care to remember. Some folks, they fight a war long enough, they get hot with hate, or just plain burned out. What happened to me, that was more rare.

I went cold. Got so's I didn't feel anything, anymore, them Alliance soldiers became as numbers. I called them 'sticks.' No more cause, or noble ideals, I kept breakin' sticks, getting' farther away from the old me.

I stopped meeting the new fish, cause they kept gettin' killed-"

Kara nodded, _Just like those rook pilots._

Zoe continued, "Then, we got pulled off the line, and the Sarge, new guy, a vet repped in offa Dyton, took the platoon out for a brew, some kinda craphole tavern. He cracked the old jokes, sang the old songs badly, then took a minute and got to introducing himself to every single soldier.

That was the first time I met Mal. He believed in what we were doing, fighting to just live, to go our own way, and he looked in my eyes, nodded once, and we got to talkin'. He brought me back from the edge, believing in a cause worth fighting for; the other soldier's lives.

Then we went back to war, and you can be damnsure I lost friends, and broke promises, and I have to live with that. First week of Serenity, all the officers got waxed, by snipers, mostly and Mal just kinda took over. Had around five thousand. To begin with, and by the time we got done holding the line, 'bout a hundred fifty walked out, into the POW camps, and our stand was forgotten."

Kara's jaw dropped. That was more than a fully-crewed Battlestar.

"A bunch thought-bunch _knew, _they weren't gonna make it. Whaddaya think Mal and I told them? 'Yeah, you're gonna die?' This is war. People die, people you care about and love, and make promises to. The only thing you can do is protect them as is still alive and near to you at the end of the day, and fight like hell for the memories of those who went before.

You sitting here, wallowing in self-pity and bad booze, ain't exactly helpin' your buddies."

With that, Zoe got up and walked away, boots clicking on the ready-room floor. Her tone had stayed calm and even through the entire talk, face expressionless.

------------------------------------------------------------------

Starbuck should have learned, but, as soon as she sobered up, she asked Wash to demonstrate his rumored piloting skill. Although he had not yet demonstrated any of the typical "egotistical pilot" tendancies, when she mentioned a training flight around the asteroids, his eyes lit up like a kid in a candy store and he started going on about how cool the Vipers looked.

She had him. This was Kara's playground now.

After a quick familiarization and sim run, to make sure he didn't get himself killed, (or, worse from her point of view, destroy a Viper,) they were in two Viper Mk II's in adjacent launch tubes.

"'Starbuck here, everything in the green."

"_Wash, saying Hi! Everything looks good from here!" _

Dee came on;

"_Wash, Starbuck, Ego flight, cleared for launch. _

Wash cleared his throat, crackling over the wireless, _"Uhm, Dee? don't you mean_ Eagle _flight?"_

"_Not according to Temporary Officer of the Watch Zoe Alleyne Washburne."_

"_Dong Ma?"_

Zoe's voice came on, and Starbuck could feel the silent laugh in those melodious tones all the way from the CIC.

"_Mag-lock secure, initiating launch sequence. Have a nice flight, dear."_

"Starbuck" couldn't help but smile as she was hurled down the launch tube into space.

----------------------------------------------------------------

Wash was just having fun with the new toy, making some basic mistakes early as he familiarized himself with how the Viper handled, babbling to himself, and anyone who would listen to him, all the way. Then he countered the spin, and raced off into the asteroid belt, with a "Yee-Haa!" and Kara close behind. The race, such as it was, was on.

They threaded their way through the belt, Wash's lead gaining, flying around the larger asteroids and smaller particulates, even though it would only take a fist-sized chunk of space-rock to hull a Viper. As they pitched toward a section of erratically spinning asteroids, Starbuck began hearing calm, even breathing on Wash's channel;

"_Sniffle-"_ as he inhaled deeply, then she heard, in an even tone; _"I am a leaf on the wind. Watch how I soar."_

Kara, Starbuck in the cockpit shook her head. _The frak does that mean?_

She brought her head back around in time to see Wash's thrusters flare up, his Viper picking up even more speed as it juked and jinked through the asteroids.

_Crazy bastard. _Thought "Starbuck." _Well, today's a good day for crazy._

She rammed her throttle into the redline, and gripped the stick even harder as the gee-forces knocked her back into the synthetic material of the pilot's seat.

Thirty seconds later, she realized that wash _was _a better pilot than she was, about the time a rock about the size of a Cylon Raider she couldn't avoid started spinning towards her as she dodged between two others.

Kara had just started thinking it was a hell of a way to die, when, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Wash's Viper, already flying through other asteroids, swap tail for nose as the twin 30's on his 'plane, firing a mixture of armor-piercing and High-Explosive ammunition, turned the asteroid into a rapidly expanding, and somewhat less-solid fireaball, which she flew through. Wash was still threading his way through the asteroids, _backwards_, until he cranked up the throttle, and began heading out of the belt.

Her radio, silent during the whole race so far, crackled again.

"_Wash here. I think it's time to call it a day, Captain Thrace."_

Kara, a cruel remark about cowardice trapped behind her now-pale lips, simply said, in a small voice,"

"Roger that. Confirm RTB."

Kara had now threaded her way up and out of the 'Belt, heading towards Galactica.

_And thank you, Hoban and Zoe Washburne, for bringing me back from the edge. Frak me, but I __**need **__a drink. So I'm not going to have one…_

_----------------------------------------------------- _

BATTLESTAR GALACTICA,

PILOTS' REC ROOM

PRESENT DAY

"Captain Thrace?" Tigh's voice came from behind, reaching into the dark space behind her eyes.

"Yes sir." Her voice, muffled as it was by her sleeves, head still down on the table for all of one second, as she stood and saluted with parade-ground precision.

As Tigh returned the salute, he swept a gimlet eye over her face, taking in the matted hair and dark circles under her eyes.

"Good Gods, Thrace!" He exclaimed, "Have you slept a wink this week?"

"'Bout a Half-a-Wink, sir." Kara replied, a weary smirk pasted on her face, "How'd you guess?"

Tigh ignored the attempt at banter.

"The Old Man's planning a mission, and he wants the best."

Said Tigh, as he walked over to the coffee machines and grabbed a mug.

"You up for this?" He asked, turning the tap on the coffee dispenser, letting the rich aroma spread through the room as the mug filled.

Coffee was a luxury item in the fleet, and was rated as an "essential military good" by the Admiral. The pilots had yet to run low.

Tigh took a bag of Arillon Morning Tea from a tray by the coffee machines, as he waited for Kara's answer.

"Yes sir. One hundred ten percent, sir." Responded Kara, as Tigh began to dunk the tea bag into the already-full coffee mug.

"Aaah, don't give me any of that eager cadet crap, Thrace." Tigh groaned, "Take a minute, sit down, and drink this." He held out the mug. "_Then_ head to the briefing room."

Kara's nose wrinkled at the mixed odor coming from the mug.

"Uhm, Colonel? What the frak is that?"

Tigh smiled, a once-in-a-lifetime event, as far as she was concerned.

"I was hoping you'd ask," he asid, "It's called Cofftea. Old trick I picked up in the First War. Tastes worse'n floor cleaner, and has three times the caffeine of anything this side of stims. Kept me goin' on Latewatch, should serve as well for your mission."

He turned to leave, but as he walked out into the corridor, the X.O. put his hand on the doorjamb and turned back to her.'

"Oh. Kara," he said, evil grin on his face, "Anyone asks what I told ya, you tell 'em I booted your ass straight out of your seat, all the way up to the briefing room. A man's gotta keep up his reputation."

Kara took a sip of the nauseating drink, nearly gagged, and drew her fingers across her lips, 'zipping' them, and tossed Tigh a wink.

The older man shook his head, grinning ruefully, and walked out of the Rec Room.


	9. Chapter 9

Well, Here's the next chapter. Sorry about the wait. On the plus side, School's out, and I'm free from work on weekends. This story will continue. Expect more chapters. As always, honest feedback is appreciated.

**Chapter 13: Miner Problem**

BIRNHAM QUADRANT

NEAR THALSTON RESUPPLY DEPOT

TWO DAYS SUBLIGHT TRAVEL FROM THE FLEET

_Serenity_ reverted to realspace just outside the large asteroid belt that dominated the quadrant. Right on target.

Mal raised the intercom,

"This is your captain speaking, our latest jump went off without a hitch, and barring any asteroid-pilot related mishaps-"

He glanced pointedly at Wash,

"-it puts us an hour from the depot _Enterprise_ is docked at."

"You plannin' on just walking up to the docking collar and demanding a meet Sir?" Asked Zoe, skeptically.

"Actually, I'm feelin' a mite alliterative today and bars and back up go hand-in-hand. We wait for them to leave their ship, an' then figure out which establishment they're gonna patronize."

Wash turned; "Mal, Jayne's a bit-"

"Conspicuous? Yeah, and if Enterprise's crew have been undercover this long maybe they're a bit paranoid." I'll throw the Chief a jumpsuit and a 'special' toolkit, and he can sit in on this lookin' like a regular mechanic."

Wash nodded, "Sounds well thought out-someone's been eating their fiber." Mal sighed and waited for him to continue, "Hopefully you won't be getting my lovely wife into any bar fights onstation, captain, job to do an all." He looked at Zoe and quickly looked away-"Er, not that you can't handle yourself, dear."

Mal smiled, "I'd never dream of involving your wife in such business. I mean, it ain't even

U-day."

They chuckled, and stared out at the asteroid field confronting them.

"Think you can get us through the field to Thalston without a hot blonde egging you on, dear?" asked Zoe.

--

"Piece of cake, sweetie." The pilot responded.

"Good," said Mal, "Take us in."

_Serenity_ entered the field, beginning a complicated dance, a dance most pilots learned one step at a time, rotating and thrusting, over and under rocks until she reached the center of the field, where the more massive rocks became planetoids, and exerted a force of their own, forming their own miniature rings. She flew unerringly towards a behemoth of a rock, Nickel-iron, twenty kilometers in diameter, and pocked with impact craters of all sizes. Near the axis of the planetoid were several sets of large steel doors, varying in size from a few dozen meters wide to several hundred. After a short communication between the Crew and port control, one of the beat-up doors silently opened, showing a massive, well lit cavern, filled with ships of all descriptions, usually in a state of repair that, to put it charitably, could be called well-used. A large neon sign with bits knocked off declared that this was indeed THAlsTon, and a flexible umbilical extended as if beckoned to meet _Serenity's_ cargo bay.

--

FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER

THALSTON RESUPPLY DEPOT PROMENADE

ONEFOOT'S TAVERN

Bars. Every criminal empire, gang, or rebel group in the 'Verse Galen Tyrol's fleet had been hurled to was been based in, operated out of, or made contacts near bars. Well, except for that Wing guy that Captain Reynolds had locked up in a bunkroom. He ran his out of fancy purloined offices on a flashy Skyplex. Not out of a place where groups of unsavory people routinely met, and went armed, even when they were _only _going out for a quiet drink.

_Not Wing-that would be uncouth._

Not that the Tavern warranted much respect. Indeed, "Tavern" was an exceedingly generous name for a bunch of cargo containers welded together and festooned with enough "memorabilia" to mine five asteroid belts, start several wars, and blackmail sixteen celebrities while offending virtually every public decency committee in existence. It was not a place to bring a date. Or family. Or anyone you cared about, it was a place that existed to get pilots, ship crew, and Belties on leave as stinking drunk as possible. For good reason, there was no functional Karaoke machine.

He sat in a small booth near the back, nursing a Rutabaga Rum Rocketeer "Proudly grown in the Hydroponics Sector," which only tasted half as bad as it should have, while he watched Mal, Zoe, and Al Bergstrom sit down at another, larger booth across the tavern, all in brown, or 

brownish coats. He saw them talk for several minutes, in hushed tones, as the telescreens in the Tavern flickered between a brutal-looking sport called Rugee or somesuch, which Tyrol wanted to see more of, through a myriad of equally odd programs which he half-saw while scanning the bar for any possible threats. None appeared. Then the channel shifted again to a news station, and the static coalesced into a picture of a man. A shorter thin man, with dark, shoulder-length hair and a confident, easy smile which he was turning on the person, probably a woman, behind the camera. The words "Mandatory News Announcement" blinked in bloodred at the bottom of the screen, but Tyrol didn't see them.

"Frak me," he muttered, and downed the rest of his shot in one gulp. Undaunted by such actions the man on the screen began to speak.

"_Er-Hullo, my name is Vice President of the Colonies Gaius Baltar, and I wish to extend my greetings, and best wishes to our new friends in the Government and people of the Union of Allied Planets…"_

--To be continued--


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 14: Nor Battle to the Strong**

"_Er-Hullo, my name is Vice President of the Colonies Gaius Baltar, and I wish to extend my greetings, and best wishes to our new friends in the Government and people of the Union of Allied Planets…"_

TELE-LYNX NEWS STUDIO,

BIRKESHOLD, LONDINIUM

Gaius Baltar was sweating. It wasn't just the studio lights, or the makeup caked onto his face to appeal to the plexcams and holo-imagers. All in all, the camera was kind to Gaius Baltar, in interviews, appearances with Presidents Adar and Roslin, and even in those **"Gaius Baltar, Science Master"** educational videos for children he had been roped into by an extremely attractive (and very determined,) studio executive. Somehow. His current studio audience was less than appreciative. One member, at least.

_Well, Gaius, she _was _a real blonde, _said the voice in his head, _a weakness you seem quite fond of if your simpering at D'anna was any indication._

She was wearing green today, and more clothing items than usual. Gloves, dress, stockings, shoes, earrings, purse, and light coat. And only he could see her.



Where was he? Allies, -yes, he went on with the speech, it was live, after all, and the telestation crew was staring at him.

"….er, yes, Union of Allied Planets,"

He paused to shoot a practiced, endearing grin at one of the cameras, not-so accidentally, the one a young, very attractive, redhead PR director was standing near to. He was a man of diverse tastes. So there. He pouted inwardly.

_Come, now Gaius, petulance hardly becomes you._ A perfectly manicured hand swept up and down emerald attire; _perhaps the reason for my elaborate wardrobe is to provide the proper-incentive, to say the right thing._

An earring hit the floor.

Baltar's eyes opened infinitesimally wider. He _had_ to continue.

"I'll spare you the full details of the history of my people, the inhabitants of the Twelve Colonies; those can be accessed through the Alliance Government's section of the cortex or on the 'Lynx News site for fair, balanced coverage of our culture and the future diplomatic proceedings between our two great peoples."

A second earring hit the floor. Baltar quelled a smile. It would not be appropriate.

"Permit me to provide a brief explanation to allay certain fears and questions. My people and I are human, our culture similar to your ancient "Hellenic" one, or so I am told. We are refugees of a distant solar system and a devastating war with artificial-intelligence driven machines of our own making. We have fifty thousand survivors out of a population that once numbered billions. Our fleet, always on the run, searched for refuge at our legendary home of Earth, in the –er, arms of our brothers and ahem sisters, having nowhere else to go. I was never a politician. I was a scientist, an innovator who survived the attacks through a supreme act of sacrifice by a member of our military." His eyes grew misty, "A brave man. I became determined to offer my people all I had, and appointment to political office was practically forced on me."

_Oh, very good Gaius, you managed to conveniently forget that Mr. Agathon is still-alive. For now. Wouldn't do to have conflicting viewpoints, would it?_

A green-leather banded watch and a tiny purse joined the earrings on the floor.

"Little did I know that I was being sorely used to extend the political means of others less scrupulous than I. As a new participant in politics, President Laura Roslin took advantage of my celebrity as a famous scientist and used it to awe the masses, while she usurped power from the Quorum and attempted to exert sole control of the fleet, with her lackey, Admiral Adama. Too late I realized that Roslin only wanted to extend the war to sow fear. Fear of annihilation to further her personal power.



A green jacket, trimmed in black, was tossed aside.

"With no formal channels left to me, I began to form an underground group to attempt to end this futile war, and restore political power to the people, for a day when we no longer need live in fear." When, through divine will, we were brought out, into Alliance Space, I sighed in relief, knowing that my ordeal for the sake of the people was almost over."

Green-stocking feet stepped out of green stilettos. Nudged them to the side.

"When the Adama-Roslin cabal opened fire, in a vicious, unprovoked attack on the _IAV Dortmunder_, which was delivering a message of peace and goodwill, in an insane effort to maintain their control over the Fleet, I was forced to take action."

A shimmering emerald evening gown pooled to the floor.

"Seeing no alternative but to appoint myself envoy to this great government, several of my compatriots and I seized a ship, and fled to your government, which generously took us in, and now you see me today,"

A green brassiere hung in suspended for a minute, and fell to the ground. Smooth hands crept unerringly downwards from perfectly formed breasts.



"I can only offer these few statements in-er closing. Families of the crew of the Dortmunder, you have my sincere condolences for their noble sacrifice. I know these men have not died in vain. To the people of the Allied Planets, Please do not judge all of our people by the poor examples of much of their current leadership. I come in the spirit of friendship. To the people of the Colonial refugee fleet, and those in the military who still have a conscience; resist. Join your brothers and resist the Megalomania of Roslin, and the Tyranny of Adama any way you can."

And finally to the so called leaders and protectors of the fleet. Those who live in power and comfort so detached from the everyday existence of ordinary people: Your day is at an end. My organization still has assets in place, and an Alliance sector fleet is approaching to restore a more democratic leadership."

The great man raised his hands in a gesture of benediction.

"So say we all"

"People of the 'Verse. I am Gaius Baltar. Thank you for listening."

The very attractive PR Person signaled a cut, chopping her hand down, and the entire studio burst into applause.

_You did well, Gaius. Adama's not the only one who can give a speech._



Baltar had ears for all, but eyes only for two; the nearly naked, possibly imaginary woman standing in front of him. His curse, his constant companion-and the pretty redheaded PR director now staring at him with liquid, understanding eyes.

_Remember Gaius, you can have any woman you want, as long as I have your heart._

Baltar's face acquired a lost-puppy look as he left the stage, walked between the two Sixes, one, Gina, damaged and visible to all, the other, pristine, elegant beautiful, and unreal. He approached the PR person, immaculate in her suit jacket, ring finger bare.

Perfect.

Er-excuse me Miss-

"-Bennington," she responded, in a lighter tone of voice than Gaius expected, "but you can call me Julia, Mr. Baltar."

"Then I must insist you call me, Gaius, Julia." He responded, with a slight smile, and schooled his face to a hangdog expression.

"Y'see, -er, Julia, I don't know many people here, and I was wondering if you'd like to come to 

dinner with me, so I could get to know you better. After all, you did such a lovely job setting up this-ah recording session, and-"

Julia got a calculating look in her eye for a moment, and Baltar ceased wondering how such a young woman could rise so high in a news agency.

She cocked her head, and almost breathily, asked

"I don't suppose you've been here long enough to find out where all the good restaurants are have you?" She asked

Baltar, lost for words, for once shook his head.

Julia sighed, "I'd be so honored, to dine with such a distinguished representative of your people. I know a place, on the water, that has a fine wine cellar and does such a lovely fish over saffron rice. Simply _to_ _die for_. We can go, eat our fill, and see what- arises." She smiled, knowingly, as Baltar offered her his arm, and together they left the news studio.



BIRNHAM QUADRANT

RAG TAG FLEET

BATTLESTAR GALACTICA CIC

Bill Adama was angry. This wasn't the type of anger that arose when minor annoyances occurred, like his aides spilling coffee on the rug in his quarters, or Zak putting a pyramid ball through their front window in the Caprica house, before everything went to hell with Carolanne. This was justified anger at a universe that Bill was convinced was out to get him, and he was dammed if he was gonna give up any time soon.

The day after the Adriatic was seized, all hell broke loose. In addition to the search for missing Vice President Baltar, the FTL drives on three ships had suddenly "broken down," causing a scramble and reshuffling of engineering personnel throughout the fleet to repair the drives. No evidence of outright sabotage was found, just simple wear and tear but Adama stepped up security measures anyway.

He hadn't lived this long by not being suspicious, and three ships breaking down at the same time was highly disturbing. Especially when one of them happened to be the _Daru Mozu _ the Fleet's only Tylium refinery ship. It got priority. The other two captains were worried, but President Roslin managed to persuade them of the necessity of the repair order. Without an ability to refine fuel, the fleet was dead in the water.

That was the easy part of the day.

As soon as Dee notified him of the excrement that was being broadcast by Baltar, He immediately put a call in to Laura,

"Madam President. Are you hearing this?" he asked.

"Yes Admiral," she replied. They listened to the rest of the speech, along with the rest of the fleet. Adama

"It appears _I've_ been somewhat remiss in my public relations strategy. I let him get the first blow in. Anything we say now will appear completely vindictive and mendacious, even if it is the truth."

"_We_ had other pressing issues, Madam President, such as obtaining food, water, and fuel to keep our people alive."

_Don't blame yourself Laura._



Bill continued, "As for that snake-in the grass, he can't run far enough, but I have a bad feeling about the last part of the message, specifically his "assets" in the Fleet."

He turned to Saul, and covered the handset.

"Colonel Tigh, check Baltar's lab for the nuke. See if he still has it."

Tigh's eyes widened, "Yes, sir." He nodded to one of the Marines standing by the door to the CIC.

"Private, you're with me-Move!"

As Tigh stalked out, the Marine followed in his wake.

Silence reigned in the CIC. For about one second.

Adama picked up the intercom.

"Dee. Give me all ships."

Dualla patched the call together and nodded. Adama grasped the intercom like a man grabbing life buoy on a sinking ship.

"This is the Admiral. We have reason to believe that the terrorist group Demand Peace, has, through the machinations of Vice President Doctor Baltar, obtained a nuclear device and has secreted it somewhere in this fleet. I am issuing a direct military order for all ships to spread to the minimum safe distance point for a class III Nuclear detonation from any of the other ships. If you locate a device, notify _Galactica_ or _Pegasus_ actual. Do not attempt to disarm it yourself. Set Condition One throughout the fleet, and prepare for emergency jump!"

Gaeta's console began to beep, and he glanced up face pale with apprehension.

"Radiological alarm!"

"Where is it, Mr. Gaeta?"

Gaeta took a deep breath. Stared at the screen, and began to filter the scan more intensely.

"Are you reading a location?

"Sir, I've got six. One from…_Majahual, _others from_ Prometheus, Baah Pakal, Zephyr, Thera Sita_, and –Oh frak me- one from _Cloud Nine_, sir."

Tigh ran back in breathless, and panted,



"It's gone"

Adama held up his hand, and Gaeta quieted. He pointed at Dee.

"Call Pegasus. Get all our EOD teams dispatched by Raptor to all the ships in question. Cloud Nine is a priority."

"The resort ship? Why is that Bill?" muttered Tigh, leaning on the plotting table, still winded.

Adama looked him straight in the eye, stating unequivocally-

"Because that's where I'd put it."

-TBC-


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 15: Names**

'_Learn their names,' _

_His father had said, on the way to work one day, an eternity ago, _

'_When you're a Partner, you're the boss, the people who work for you-they'll obey you no matter what. If you learn their names, treat them as people, not instruments of your will, they'll work harder, do better, trust you to know what to do when the chips are down.'_

'_What if I don't want to be a lawyer, Dad?' Asked twelve year old Will, gazing longingly at a painstakingly accurate model of a Caprican Cobra proudly displayed above the fireplace._

'_You are an Adama. Be whoever you want to be. I'll support your decision every step of the way-assuming it isn't something like murder, or arson-_

_Young Will smirked, an uncommon look for the normally solemn boy,_

'_How about insurance fraud, Dad? You didn't mention that-" _

'_Yet.' His father winked at him, ruffled his hair. 'Finish your breakfast, and get your ass over to school. I don't want another tardy notice.' He held up his hand-'I don't care how good the book was.'_

_Will began shoveling down cereal faster. 'yessir,' he said, with his mouth full._

BIRNHAM QUADRANT

BATTLESTAR GALACTICA CIC

The (relative) peace and quiet the Colonials had been enjoying for the past several weeks came to an abrupt end. War was here again, and duty shoved her rude little head into thoughts of friends, lovers, and breakfast.

"Sir!" Dee exclaimed, "Transmission from _Cloud Nine_- It's the Captain."

Bill nodded and picked up the phone, which seemed to weigh more than it had at any time since he'd thought Lee was dead,

"Galactica Actual, Go ahead, Capt. Astor-"

An older woman's voice filled the handset;

"Admiral, my security detail found the nuke. It's located in a critical structural point near the dome and propulsion unit. Like that'll matter when it goes off." She added sarcastically.

"_When _it goes off?"

"Security has reported a buildup of radioactive isotopes. We estimate eight minutes, at the most, until detonation."

"Order an evacuation, and stand by we've got an EOD team-"

"Already done, Admiral, but we won't be able to get more than half of the people off in time, and your Bomb Boys won't get there fast enough either. Call them off, and get everyone the frak away from us…"

Bill nodded at Dee, and she bent to her work.

"Warnings transmitted."

Gaeta looked up from his console,

"Admiral, _Cloud Nine_ is moving at maximum thrust- away from the Fleet."

"Thank you, Mr. Gaeta. Prepare to coordinate SAR teams post-initiation."

"Sir"

Bill took a deep breath, and refrained from rubbing his face. It would not do for the last Admiral of the Colonial Fleet to look upset or tired.

He picked up the handset again.

"Captain Astor- Linda, I'm not going to tell you to evacuate. I know the Captain goes down with her ship. I will say that you and your people have done an excellent job, and ask you if you have any last requests."

Ragged breathing came from over the line.

"Yeah Bill, I do- Save whoever you can, kill the bastards that did this. Slowly. And remember us.

"Count on it. Go with the gods."

She snorted, "Come on, Bill, you don't believe any of that crap."

"Yeah, but you do."

Dee spoke up,

"Fifth shuttle in line reports it has reached minimum safe distance line. About one third of the escape pods are currently beyond it." "Pegasus reports her SAR teams are prepped and ready.

"Very good, Petty Officer. Keep me updated." Mr. Gaeta, estimated time 'till detonation?"

The young man checked his board, "Two minutes, Admiral."

Bill turned to Dualla.

"Get me Fleetwide."

The young woman made the necessary connections, and nodded, "You're on, sir."

Bill raised the intercom to his mouth,

"This is the Admiral. Terrorists in league with the Cylons have activated a nuclear device aboard the _Cloud Nine_. It will detonate in a couple of minutes. Her captain has removed the ship from the fleet for our safety, and is currently evacuating it. Many people will not make it off. I ask that you give aid and comfort to those who do. We _will_ remember them, and we will have justice for those who have been murdered here today.

So say we all."

He put the microphone down, and yet his last four words resounded.

_So say we all._

It echoed around the CIC, through the halls of the aging Battlestar, through the fleet. It wasn't a cry of hope, a hope that they would find Earth and other humans, and everything would be alright again, because they had, and it wasn't

_So say we all._

Nor was it an affirmation of survival, pride at having beaten the odds and stayed breathing for another day.

_So say we all._

This was the sound of a people pushed into a corner, and resigned to fight until their last breath, for justice, for vengeance, for the Gods. This was the distilled venom of an angry people who were going out fighting.

_So say we all._

Bill felt more than heard the explosion, the hiss of static from his channel to the expanding ball of dust and gas that was formerly the luxury liner_ Cloud Nine_. He saw Gaeta's board light up, met the young man's determined stare and nodded.

_So say we all._

And the Old Man, who wanted nothing more than to rest, to let someone else carry the weight for a while, began to coordinate the rescue of the survivors with his son aboard the _Pegasus_.

Six grueling hours later the survivors had been transferred to crowded quarters aboard the other ships in the fleet, and some to empty bunks on the Battlestars.

PEGASUS WARDROOM

President. Admiral. Commander. The titles seemed to fill the room, demanding proper protocol at all times. The recent attack did nothing to lighten the tension, and yet, the three people at the table seemed as close as family. Two of them were. Sometimes.

Laura Roslin looked sad, unbeaten,

_And really frakkin' pissed off._

"How many?"

Lee punched pressed the pad on the table, and a computerized tally sprang to life on the wall. Pegasus had been chosen for the meeting due to the advanced computer systems and starchart collections aboard. The irony was readily apparent, as was the toll of the tragedy on the three people present in the room.

Lee spoke up, "Aside from transient passengers using Cloud Nine as a transit hub throughout the fleet, her population had remained steady at around 6500 souls. 3845 made it off, around 2600-er-didn't.

"What is our current tactical situation?" asked Roslin

Bill spoke up,

"Baltar said the Alliance was sending a Sector fleet. I have people trying to pull an Order of Battle out of the CoreLink station Reynolds left us, but no luck so far. We're assuming it is on par with a Battlestar Group, which would leave us significantly outnumbered."

He took a breath, and Lee spoke up, they had become used to spelling each other in explanations to the military-uninitiated President;

"We can't leave yet, as the sabotaged FTL drives on several vessels still need to be repaired, and _Serenity_ hasn't returned yet-Their next scheduled check in is in two days. We altered the emergency coordinates after the Adriatic was taken, but if we jump the Fleet now, we'd have to split up the two Battlestars to cover the unrepaired vessels, thus dividing our force and coverage. We have raptors out several hours travel on direct routes to these coordinates, which should provide warning of any threat moving at sublight."

"So we wait Admiral?" Roslin asked.

Bill and Lee nodded.

"Yes Madam President. We wait."

"Well, while we're waiting, I'm going to meet with Tom Zarek." She ignored their stupefied looks, and explained:

"I need a new Vice President to mobilize the people. Zarek is popular, and has a backchannel into several aspects of the Fleet, aspects I cannot be seen dealing with, but aspects which we have need of nonetheless, and-"

"And?" asked Bill.

Roslin gave a wry grin, "Something about keeping your enemies closer. The Vice Presidency is a position of tremendous prestige, but very little tangible power."

Lee raised his eyebrows, "Until you have an _accident_, of course."

She stared them,

_So much alike, father and son. Not that I'll tell them anytime soon._

"Ensuring I avoid any 'accidents' is _your_ job, Gentlemen, and the job of _my _security detail. They do well against attempted Coups as well. As do certain idealistic young Captains."

Laura winked.

"Good day, Gentlemen." Then she was gone.

The elder Adama rose and stretched, joints cracking. He walked over, and patted his son on the shoulder, signifying that rank could be dispensed with-for the moment.

"How are you holding up, Lee? Command everything you hoped for?"

Lee puffed up his cheeks and blew out a breath,

"Let's see-New quarters, deck layout, guilt tripping subordinates, Speeches, terrorists, nukes, and a whole new war. Seems as if life has gotten a whole lot more _interesting._"

Bill snorted, "May you live in interesting times- an ancient curse from one of Earth's larger nations, if I remember Companion Serra's words correctly."

"Is that _all _you remember about her?" asked Lee, grinning evilly.

"All I'll admit to remembering." His father shot back

"I'm glad you're taking this in stride Lee."

Then his smile vanished, and he looked his Lee in the eyes.

"Remember. The Command isn't about machines, poise or regulations. The ship, the bulkheads are secondary to _what's in the ship. _Command is about people-angry, scared, vulnerable people. If you learn their names, learn who they are, let them know you've got the situation handled, and they'll walk through Hades for you, confident as the day they graduated the Academy. Your job is to let them. To guide them through, even though you _know_ that some of them aren't coming back.

Bill sighed, walked past his son, and opened the hatch.

Lee nodded goodbye. He didn't need to say anything.

"Learn their names, son."

Bill Adama left the wardroom.

**Note to my readers:**

Thank you all for your kind reviews, and being willing to give my first story the benefit of the doubt. Due to my academic schedule heating up, and continued writer's block regarding this story, I have decided to put it on hiatus. Consider it a midseason break, if you will. I am planning on taking a break on this story to give me more time to work on other things, as I feel I have run dry on ideas for this story. Rest assured, I will return to writing this, (I have as much fun writing it as you all doo reading it,) but for now, I may start other projects. As always, reviews and suggestions are welcome.

**Suggestion:** If anyone wants to do one-shots in this 'Verse' for characters I have neglected, (Gaeta, River, Simon, Cally, Tigh, etc,) let me know, and I'll see where I can fit them into the can fit into the story.

Stay tuned for other stories, and as Adama said-

"We'll be back"


End file.
